Reciprocal Quandaries
by Primsong
Summary: The Second Doctor with Ben, Polly and Jamie pause for a bit of restful holiday at the 1900 Paris Exposition - or so they wished....
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Originally written for the tardis_gen ficathon on Livejournal, this might be termed a 'straight-up historical', for in spite of it being in Two's 'monster-ful' era this tale features a bit of intrigue at the 1900 Paris Exposition in which monsters might be noted only by their absence. Of course, who needs things like that when you have good old-fashioned human nature to deal with?_

-oo00oo-

**1.**

-oo00oo-

"So, what do you think?" Polly asked, giving a swish of her skirts then stopping with a brief scowl to tug at the light corset through the fabric then to straighten one of the puff-topped sleeves. The blue promenade dress was heavier than she'd thought it would be by the time all the layers were in place, though it was light for the time period she needed to blend into.

"It looks like a ship!" Ben said with delight.

"'An' almost as wide," Jamie quipped.

Polly raised her hand, furled parasol ready to smack them both.

"Oi! I meant the hat, not the dress," Ben protested, ducking behind the console.

"Oh!" Polly said, her hand going to her head. "I forgot it was there!" She reached up to pat at it, unused to the feel of the blue-grey tinted feathers waving overhead, the small silver-gilt ship within them afloat on its sea of felt. "Now really, what do you think?"

Ben grinned. "No sailor'd be caught dead in that gear, but on you it works."

"Looks nice," Jamie offered by way of an apology. "Verra nice."

She took a good look at him and admired in turn. " Jamie, look at you!"

Refusing to wear a suit, he'd been outfitted in a more formal dress for his kilt, a full-cut white shirt with a plaid pinned at his shoulder by a brooch. He'd topped it off with a Glengarry piper's bonnet, something he'd found in the wardrobe and promptly adopted as his own.

"Oh, don't you look grand," she said. "Like you're going to be in a parade!"

"Hey, Duchess, now what about me now?" Ben asked, pulling her attention back. He'd also refused the standard suit of the time, opting for the appropriate era's naval uniform. He jokingly posed and flexed his arms for her.

"And a man in uniform," Polly laughed in a mock-swoon. "Was ever a girl better escorted?"

"Ah, here we are now," the Doctor said bustling back into the console room and tweaking the scanner. "Yes. Exactly right. Paris exposition of 1900." He peered up at the image thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. "It appears we're behind some sort of mechanical display, a diesel engine, perhaps. Diesels were quite new at this time. And good, good! We're just before the awards were given out. Oh yes, I would like to see that." He adjusted the stove-pipe hat he'd perched on his head and stuffed a clean handkerchief into his front pocket.

"Are ye sure about that hat?" asked Jamie

"Sure about it?" the Doctor said indignantly. "I thought it looked rather nice."

"Oh, it does!" said Ben a little too breezily. The Doctor frowned at this, his chin jutting out as he contemplated a rebuff to their needling. Ben opened his mouth again, but Polly elbowed him sharply.

"It looks fine," she assured, "Very stylish and…very... tall!"

The frown vanished to be replaced with a beaming smile. "Yes, I thought so too. Thank you, Polly." He reached up and adjusted it again. "And all of you look just fine."

"What about Jamie?" asked Ben, gesturing at the image on the scanner. "He's not dressed like those blokes."

"No need to worry," the Doctor assured them, poking a couple buttons on the console and reaching for the door control. "He won't be out of place. The exposition had people in traditional and native dress from all sorts of nations. It's what you might call 'cosmopolitan' but only in a limited way, since most of the cosmos isn't really represented, but for Earth it's quite nice, yes, quite nice."

The doors swung open.

"Oh. Hm," the Doctor said. There was barely enough room for them to squeeze out past stacked wooden crates.

"Need to practice where you park it," Polly smiled.

"At least it's hidden well enough," Ben said. "They didn't have police boxes in 1900, did they?"

The four of them carefully made their way around a large metal fabrication of some kind, edged around a large wooden sign and joined in with the light crowd that was flowing along the hall and out the wide doorways. The weather was mild and comfortable with only a bit of a breeze to stir the feathers on the ladies hats and lend the various buntings and pennants some motion. Ben and Polly looked around somewhat wide-eyed at the amazing variety of booths, buildings and activities. Jamie adjusted his plaid a bit nervously and stepped closer to the Doctor, who was turning in a slow circle so he could see everything and looking quite pleased.

"Oh look, look there," he chirped, giving his hands a little clap of delight. "Candy floss! Yes, here's something you'll like, I'm sure of it. It was brand new at this expo, you know, and just lovely stuff. We'll have to have some." Ben and Polly tagged along after him in amusement as he made a beeline for one of the gaily decorated booths.

"Candy floss?" asked Jamie in an undertone.

"Spun sugar," Polly clarified. "Slow down, Ben."

Jamie nodded. "Aye, well, that explains it. He's always _that_ quick for sweets." He grinned as he left them behind to catch up with the bobbing stovepipe hat; the Doctor was rapidly vanishing into the crowd. By the time he caught up with him, he was in the short queue for a gaily-decorated booth and digging around in his jacket pocket for money.

"Ah, there you are. Here, hold this," he said, handing Jamie a wad of multicoloured bills and sifting through a small handful of coins. He looked up at Ben and Polly reached them, apologizing as they edged around a rather large woman who had joined the queue in the meantime.

"There's a sign back there," Ben gestured. "Says the _Turbinia'_s t' be seen along the quay!"

"What's a turbinya?" asked Jamie.

"A ship," said Polly, rolling her eyes at Ben's naval obsessions as the queue shuffled forward.

"The _Turbinia_ wasn't just any ship, Pol," defended Ben. "She was the fastest ship in the world!"

The Doctor glanced back at them. "First turbine-driven one," he said somewhat absently, his attention more on the candy floss' soft mounds just ahead.

Ben nodded. "I read about 'er when I was just a sprig."

"Did you _always_ want to be a sailor, then?" asked Polly.

"Blimey, no! I wanted to be an opera singer. Or Wonderman," he grinned. "He could travel through time."

"An opera singer? You, musical?" Polly snorted in laughter behind her hands.

"Ben's got a good voice," Jamie put in. "I bet he could've been a piper."

"Not if it meant wearin' one o' those..." Ben began, interrupted by the Doctor who was suddenly thrusting giant wads of candy floss at them.

"Here we are!" he said happily, leading the group away from the booth to a small grassy knoll where they could take in the nearby sights and people. He pulled off a great lump of the sticky fluff and diligently consumed it while the others poked at their own. "Oh no, not like that, Ben! Candy floss takes a more delicate touch."

Ben shrugged and continued squishing his into dense blobs of pink sugar which he popped in his mouth. Jamie seemed a little worried about how to eat it at first, but imitated the Doctor's teasing off pieces and stuffing them in his mouth, licking away the sticky stray bits.

"There's all types of scientific exhibits, most interesting and educational," the Doctor said conversationally as he ate. "It isn't often a world has such a burst of innovation all at once. It's really quite intriguing, I'm sure you'll..."

"Oh, do we _have_ to listen to some great bunch of scientists talk?" Polly complained.

"Aye, I'd rather have a look at this grand fair," Jamie agreed, picking bits of floss off his sleeve.

"Jamie an' I will take good care of Polly," Ben promised, winking at the young lady in question.

"I can take care of myself!" she asserted. "We can take a look 'round, can't we, Doctor? I promise I'll keep these two out of trouble."

The Doctor looked disappointed but not really surprised at their reticence. "I suppose as long as you stay together you should be fine, no matter who is protecting whom. There's any number of amusements. Of course you'll need some money… Here…" the Doctor dug around in his coat pocket, handing Jamie a small ball of grubby string, a metal tube with a switch on it, a pen and a pack of cards. "Ah, there it is." He pulled out a small leather coin purse and handed it to Ben, taking the other items and stuffing them back in. "Now go on, I'll be somewhere about here. I expect most of the scientific exhibits are in that building over there. If you can't find me you can always just go back to the TARDIS."

"Right," said Ben, weighing the purse in his hand cheerfully. "C'mon Duchess."

"All right…." Polly handed the rest of her floss to the Doctor who happily started in on it, his own already being gone. He waved them on their way and turned back to the hall they'd arrived in.

"D'ye think he'll be all right?" Jamie wondered, watching the ridiculous hat disappearing among the taller patrons.

"Oh, he'll be fine. Probably off to talk one o' those chaps into letting him take their machine apart," said Ben, taking Polly's elbow in imitation of the fashionable escorting he saw around them. "Hey, there's some rides over that way. Let's take a look!"

The three made their way through the multicoloured crowds, passing by the main promenade where excited, happy fair-goers were just coming in to take the place of the footsore, weary ones going out. They followed the signs and the sight of a Ferris wheel that could just be seen over the tops of the buildings.

There was much to see not only in the attractions and beauty of the surrounding area and its buildings, but in the people. Ben enjoyed mocking the fantastic hats some of the women wore, though he was quick to allow that Polly's own was an exception, of course, and mimicked perfectly the reaction of a lady whose hat had blown off while she was riding the two-man hot-air balloon.

"Aloysius! Aloysius! My cuckoo!" he squeaked again, clutching the sides of his face to Jamie and Polly's amusement.

"A cuckoo-clock hat!" Polly laughed. "And I thought a ship was ridiculous!"

"Naw, that ship looks right grand on you, Duchess. Hey, you want to go back and ride that balloon? We could see the whole place, I bet."

"I'd rather see the view from the Ferris wheel," Polly said, looking longingly at the big rotating wheel, just beyond the booths of smaller amusements. "Oh, can you just imagine? The view must be wonderful up there."

"Eh, wouldn't the wind take up that dress o' yours, way up there?" Jamie asked, craning his neck. "Look how they're swingin' about."

"I'm sure it must be safe," Polly argued, looking up at the great creaking wheel. "Heights like that don't bother me."

"Must be why Ben's always callin' y' a bird," Jamie teased.

Polly wasn't the only one; each of them were drawn to a favorite. Ben spent the most time watching a ride involving small painted boats that floated away into a dark tunnel. The signs declared the boat's passengers would be treated to 'amazing scenes from history!' and would 'see famous personages of long ago!' which made him laugh. "We really ought to tell the Doctor about this one," he chuckled. "He'd be in there tellin' 'em how they got it all wrong."

"Hey now, look at that!" Jamie said, pulling them away.

"Isn't it beautiful!" Polly agreed, following his gaze to the huge gilt carousel that turned, its mirrors flashing, ribbons trailing from the hats of the fantastic animal's riders. "I've never seen such a large one!"

"What is it?" the Scot asked, fascinated by its movement.

"A carousel," she said. "And that over there is a Ferris wheel, my favorite."

"Look, there's games," Ben said, plucking at their sleeves in turn. "What do you say we win something for Polly, Jamie?"

"Win something for me?" she asked, pulling a face. "What, to impress the girl?"

"Nah," Ben said, "To show all these old-fashioned blokes how it's done!"

"Eh?" said Jamie, who had still been distracted by the carousel. "Show how what's done?"

"Whatever you like," he replied, leading the way. "Darts over there, and that's one where you try to knock over the plates, and… oh, that…that's the one there, that is!"

Polly shook her head in amused disbelief. "Rope climbing?"

"Either that or we could win you on of those dolls hanging over there."

Polly eyed the fat netful of souvenir Parisian dolls with distaste. "No thank you! Better be the ropes then. Do you really think you can do it?""

Ben grinned, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "An' old sea-dog like me? Of course I can. Sign says there's a prize too, you get a ticket to a ride!"

Jamie's eyes lit up. "There's no one else in line. If jus' the two of us go, then one's bound to win."

"That'd be me," Ben asserted, approaching the hawker.

"Aye, right after I do!" Jamie retorted good-naturedly. He followed Ben's example and took up a stance at one of the four thick ropes that dangled from a tall post set in the ground. With only two of them climbing, the others were left loose. Ben scooped chalk from a tub on the fencing and rubbed his hands with it, Jamie copying his movements. Both of them turned to smile at the grinning young lady who watched them from the side.

The hawker smiled too as a small crowd began to slow in their promenades to watch the contest. "Ready, gentlemen? On the count of three. One. Two….Three!" He blew a small whistle for emphasis, though it was hardly needed. Ben swarmed up his rope like a monkey, single-mindedly aiming for the topmost ring of metal where a brightly painted bell hung. Puffing, he reached it, grabbed for the clapper and hit it with a triumphant gong.

"Hey!" protested Jamie with a grin. Ben startled as the clapper was pulled from his hand and a second clang of the bell rang out. The young Scot had been right behind him.

Ben clapped him on the shoulder with a chalky hand. "I didn't know you could climb like that!"

"Still, not as quick as you! A fine lark. Y' won, right fair," Jamie said. "Look, there's Polly!"

Ben joined him in waving down at the scatter of applause from the observers before following his friend back down. The hawker was already starting up again, exhorting the men to impress their ladies with their feats of strength. He nodded at them as they returned to him, wiping away the last of the chalk and turned to Ben, pulling a bit of coloured paper from his suit pocket.

"Here you are sir, free tickets for you and your pretty lady there, congratulations, congratulations. Step right up! Step right up!"

Ben grinned, ignoring Jamie who was now hovering behind him trying to read the print over his shoulder. "Thank you. Look, Duchess! How d'you like that, tickets for the boat ride!"

"The boat ride?" Polly said, hiding her slight disappointment. She had been hoping for the Ferris wheel, though Ben was so excited she didn't want to say so. Instead, she offered her hand. "Well, what are we waiting for then?"

They retraced their steps to the decorated water channel with its small colourful boats disappearing into the dark archway one at a time. Ben smiled at the tiny crafts, watching one of them briefly wobbling as a hefty woman and her bouncing son were loaded into a mint green one. Jamie, feeling a bit left out but content to people-watch, especially as it hadn't been for the carousel that had his own fancy, dandled along the wrought-iron fencing that bordered the waters. They probably weren't that deep, but Polly found herself hanging back as they approached the ticket-taker anyway.

"Don't you want to go?" Ben asked, a little surprised at her hesitation.

She eyed the small boats and cringed at the thought of trying to navigate her full skirts in and out of such a craft. The prospect of tipping, tripping or being a laughingstock hung before her vividly. "I'm sorry, I really don't."

"They won't sink," he teased. "Look, they've even got wood slats movin' underneath."

"I just…I'm sorry." She did look sorry, but also determined.

"Well…" Ben looked down at the two tickets. "Seems a shame to waste 'em, at least at the start."

"I'll take it," Jamie volunteered, "I mean, if Polly isn't goin' to use it. Is she?"

"No, no," Polly said gratefully. "Go ahead, both of you. That way you can still tell the Doctor what sort of historical pictures they have, right?"

"Well, I suppose…" Ben said doubtfully. "But what about you?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Really. I'll just wait over there, out of the sun. After all, what can happen?"

-oo00oo-


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

-oo00oo-

Polly watched as her two companions disappeared around the bend into the watery tunnel, still waving back at her, then leaned back against edge of the ornate fencing to fan herself. She didn't like to admit it, but this dress was harder to get around in than she'd expected and the stiff, tight corset was making her feel a little sick. Not wanting to complain in front of them she now allowed herself the luxury of some subtle squirming and tugging, and a face that was more like she felt.

A woman's voice cut in, startling her from her reverie.

"Anna!" cried a middle-aged woman, naked shock and surprise on her face.

"What?" Polly jerked back as the woman suddenly reached out to grab her hands, holding them firmly in her own.

"Anna, what in the world are you doing here? You're supposed to be at Mlle. Bray's school by now!" Her hazel eyes were both surprised and sternly accusing.

"What?" Polly repeated, now truly bewildered. "I'm sorry, you…"

"Oh!" the woman suddenly smiled, though she didn't let go of Polly's hands and the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Your class has come to the Expo together?"

"I…my class? I'm sorry…" Polly tried again.

This brought a frown of concern. "Have you had too much sun? Come with me, dear. Let's get you somewhere cooler." She hooked Polly's arm in her own with a firmness that spoke of an authority not used to being ignored. Polly pulled away.

"Anna!" the woman rebuked. Her no-nonsense tone dripped icicles. "You will come with me." She reached for Polly's arm again. "Whether you're in a Parisian school now or not, you will still show proper respect for your elders."

Polly looked hopefully over at the ride, but there was no sign of their boat returning. People waiting looked at them curiously. Not wanting to attract too much attention, she only slightly pulled away and this time spoke in an undertone.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but my name isn't Anna and I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Anna!" came a second, deeper voice. A brown-haired man with greying muttonchops strode up to them. "What under the sun are you doing here? Edith, I've been looking all over for you as well."

Polly blinked at him. He seemed terribly familiar, which was a bit disorienting. "Seeing the fair," she said defensively, "and as I said, I'm _not_ this Anna you keep talking about. I'm sorry!"

"William, I'm so glad you're here. There's no sign of her class and now she's making absolutely no sense!"

"What do you mean, I'm making no sense? I told you…and I don't have a class," Polly protested.

"What do you mean, you don't have a class?" the man growled at her. "Of course you do!"

"But…no, I don't! I'm…"

"Truant? Or…they didn't send you away, did they?" William blustered sternly. "They were paid good money, those women, they better not have…"

"Oh, you don't think they did?" Edith put in at the same time. "Anna, you didn't cause them even more trouble did you? How could you?"

"We'll soon get to the bottom of this!" William continued. "Taking good English money from us and then leaving our niece to go gallivanting about the city by herself! I won't stand for it, I tell you…."

"Your grandfather is going to be just…oh!" Edith agreed.

"Grandfather?" asked Polly, completely bewildered. "I…My grandfather is nowhere around here! I'm not Anna!"

"Of course he's here!" William snapped. "What are you talking about? He paid for that school and by God you're going to be at it!"

"William, watch your language," Edith said. "Anna's not making any sense and I think we need to get her home. Too much sun."

--

William Stokely, it turned out, was a no-nonsense man every bit as much as his wife was a no-nonsense woman. Upon Edith's declaration of the need to get her home, he'd quickly propelled them along the walk towards the main gate, a seemingly light but firm hand on each woman's arm. Polly was rapidly trotted along in her unfamiliar shoes, gasping as the pace began to tax her limited air supply and make her giddy. People whirled past them, booths and displays and hawkers of goods as she struggled to breathe against the tight bond of the corset. Her faltering attempts at prying away their hands had only increased their determined conclusion that she was apparently out of her head and would not be safe alone.

The threesome marched out the gate, where William selected a cab from among the line of carriages and trams servicing the exposition crowds and efficiently, firmly bundled the still-faintly protesting Polly in with Edith. Giving instructions to the driver, he climbed in and took a place opposite them.

The carriage started out with a swaying jolt as Polly struggled to catch her breath after the rapid walk. It didn't help that the now-hated corset was cutting into her waist as she sat. Edith didn't seem bothered by it at all, aside from having a flushed face. How did they do it?

She looked over at William, thinking it was tremendously unfair that men weren't required to wear them when something in the lighting on his face suddenly clicked into place. No wonder he had seemed like someone she ought to know; he was an absolute ringer for her own uncle, only in old-fashioned clothing and with muttonchops, of course. Turning away, she watched the houses rolling by and pondered this strange multiplicity of mistaken identities. Was there something else going on, maybe something the Doctor ought to know about?

"We'll be there soon," the woman, Edith, said beside her, fanning herself. "I hope there'll be ices with supper. Anna, dear, are you feeling better now that you're out of the sun?"

Polly considered her position in this situation carefully. If there was any kind of strange interference going on, she needed to find out about it all she could. Maybe the house would hold some clues, She was fairly sure she could get away later if she had to. She could try to find some way to get a message to Ben and Jamie and the Doctor, surely a place as sophisticated as Paris had some kind of messaging system. Was it too early for telephones? She was pretty sure it was.

"Oh yes," she said carefully. "I feel much better. Thank you."

---

"She was just here! Where could she have gone?" Ben protested anxiously. "We shouldn't have ever left her." He and Jamie had now made two entire weaving circuits of the area and hadn't found any sign of their companion.

"Maybe she just went to find a drink or powder her nose. Though I never could tell why it's always needin' powderin'…"

"Maybe," he said doubtfully. "I suppose we should wait, but only for a little while." The two of them restlessly leaned against a set of benches, watching the assorted groups of people going past, grumbling mutual regrets at leaving her behind, especially as the ride hadn't even been all that interesting. They found plenty of young ladies mixed in among tired older women and hopping, whining girls but no sign of Polly.

"She could've gone to see that sewin' machine, the one that sign was pointin' at…" suggested Jamie.

"Why would Polly want to see a _sewing_ machine?" Ben snorted. He hadn't stopped fidgeting yet.

"Oh, well…" Jamie said. In truth, he wasn't really sure if it would interest her or not, but it had looked kind of interesting to him, though he wasn't going to admit that to Ben now. "Let's try askin' about," he suggested. "Someone might've seen her."

Ben nodded and immediately lunged at a nearby couple to ask, only to have them startle away from him in alarm as Jamie sighed and tried a gentler approach with one of the ride attendants. "Ben!" he called after a moment.

"Where is she? What did he say? Is…"

"Sort of. Yon lad says she was goin' out with her parents," he shrugged. "They were headin' for that main gate, back that way. Says her Da was lookin' stern w' her."

"Parents? Da?" Ben puzzled, "That can't 'ave been her!"

Jamie shrugged again. "Doesn't mean they _were_ her parents. Only that they looked it."

Ben glowered. "If it was then some chap, whoever he was, has our Polly! Come on, Jamie. We have to find her!" He pulled his friend along with him, heading towards the main gate. The two of them wove through the crowds then, after a brief hesitation, went across the nearby street. After looking about the crowded way for a few moments and for lack of any other idea, they started searching down the main street but after peering into a few shops and scanning the seemingly endless crowds of strangers Ben faltered to a stop. Jamie turned and came back to him questioningly.

"There's too many people. Where do we even start?" Ben despaired.

"We should go back for th' Doctor," Jamie concluded. "Maybe he can rig somethin' up to find…"

"That'll take too long!" Ben interrupted impatiently. "Who knows where those people took 'er. Let's ask some of these people, like…the ones on the benches. They might 'ave seen something."

Jamie frowned but didn't argue. "I'll take those, you take these then."

They split up, querying the people who were sitting, all rubbing their feet, reading papers or snacking from small paper bags. On their fourth try, a Gendarme came over to warn Ben to stop panhandling and seemed only thinly inclined to believe his story of searching for a missing friend. Several minutes later Jamie came back to meet him, shaking his head. They'd gained no information at all.

"We need to go back," Jamie repeated. "We need the Doctor's help wi' this."

Ben nodded unhappily. As they turned back, he glanced about for the gendarme and seeing him otherwise occupied, leaned over to ask a somewhat rumpled looking middle-aged couple on the next bench over.

"Excuse me, 'ave you seen a pretty blonde bird, she's wearin' a blue sort of hat, about yea high…has a ship on it, an'…" Ben fell back on hand gestures to try to describe Polly's headgear.

"Aye," Jamie put in helpfully. "Blonde. Pretty lass. An' she's got feathers too."

The woman frowned in disapproval of them and turned away, but the man she was with gave them a brief wink. "I expect you lads are wanting the dance hall? Sounds like what you're looking for would be in there. It's over that way, listen for the music. You can't miss it."

"Dance hall?" asked Jamie blankly.

"Thank you!" Ben called, pulling his friend after him.

-oo00oo-


	3. Chapter 3

**3**.

-oo00oo-

Crowds of people slowly pushed past as Ben and Jamie stood uncertainly before the building's entrance, from which strands of tinkling music drifted out. The inside was dark, a contrast with the brightly oversized gold and red painted signs flanking the doorway. It was written in three languages and framed with filigree.

"Cabaret! Genuine Burlesque, Vaudeville Performances!" read the English. "Dancers of Many Exotic Nations, Acrobatics and Operetta Daily, Amazing Spectacles!"

Jamie pointed to the bottom of the sign. "Quality Entertainment for Gentlemen Only."

Ben dug in his pocket for the coin purse and poked his fingers through the contents for anything resembling current acceptable coinage to purchase tickets. "What is all this? This dosh isn't even from Earth," he muttered, briefly examining a blue rectangle with holes in it.

"It says for _Gentlemen Only_," Jamie noted. "Why would she go in here?"

"Because some bloke could've taken her in with 'im," Ben said grimly. "This money's no good."

Jamie shrugged. "We're just lookin' for Polly, not stayin' anyway. Look, here comes a whole crowd on that side. Let's go."

The two of them quickly waded into the mass of men exiting an earlier show. A tired-looking usher briefly tapped Ben's arm but he simply smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I left my wallet, just need nip back in for a moment." He kept going. No one else tried to stop them.

A babble of voices greeted them as they pushed into the dim hall, the air thick with the scent of ale and cigar smoke, washed and swirled in the energetic music that emitted from the musicians' pit. Feeling their way along through various patrons, they bumped past chairs and tables until they found a curtained wall; it seemed as if all light in the room was concentrated in the reflectors blazing along the stage rim.

"'Cor, look at that Jamie, would y' now?" Ben whistled appreciatively as the curtains pulled back.

Jamie's gaped in astonishment. "Ben, those lasses up there, they're in almost… naught but feathers!" he gulped as the dancers formed a row and began kicking together before the bright lights edging the stage, encouraged by whistles, shouts and applause from the viewers.

After staring a moment, Ben suddenly shook his head and elbowed Jamie. "C'mon now, we have to find Polly!"

Jamie's eyes were still on the spangled and ruffled dancers. "D'ye think a lass like Polly would even come in here?"

"Not because she _wanted_ to." Ben pulled Jamie along by an elbow as they skirted along the dark velvet-covered walls. "They're a proper fine sight, but we don't want some rat forcin' our Polly into flashin' her legs like that, do we?"

The mental image was too much. Jamie blinked like an owl. "Er…."

"Come on," Ben said good-naturedly dragging his less worldly-wise friend after him. "I saw some o' this lot when I was on shore leave once - about dropped my eyes right out o' my head too. Now look, the next time that usher moves we get in that stage door there, see?"

"But what if she's out here?" Jamie asked, peering at the smoke-wreathed audience.

"While you kept gawkin' at the tarts, I've taken a look; I don't see her anywhere," Ben said.

"I wasn't!" Jamie blushed.

"Ha!"

"Benny! Benny Jackson!" A trio of men suddenly turned from their drinks, two of them waving for them to come over.

"How do they know you?" Jamie asked suspiciously.

Ben frowned. "I don't have any idea."

One of the men stood up, gesturing. Whether they were intending good or ill, one thing was definitely revealed.

"'Cor blimey, Jamie. Those are sailors! And I missed my recall for shore leave!"

Jamie shook Ben's arm, pulling him the other way. "But this is 1900! It makes no sense."

"Jackson, get over here," the man said. "The Cap'n'll skin you tail first if you're any later."

"He can go back with us," the other added. "Benny! Come have an ale first. The numbness helps." This brought laughter from the others, but they were all getting to their feet now.

"They _do_ know me!" Ben muttered in a panicked voice. "What'll I do, Jamie? They'll clap me in irons, I'll get far more than just a lashin' w' a tongue…! "

"This just _isn't _right," Jamie insisted. "We need t' find the Doctor!"

"Look at what Benny's picked up," the first gestured, nearly slopping his drink.

"Why if it isn't a grrrrreat dirrrrty Scot!" announced the other in exaggerated brogue. "The_ Viper_ won't take on any like that."

Jamie bristled. "Hey now, what d' ye mean by that remark?" He looked at Ben, whose jaw was clenching in anger, but his friend only held him back with an arm.

"It's me you're wanting," he grated. "Leave him out of it." He took a step forward, but Jamie grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

"Y' can't go with them," he hissed. "I won't let you! We need to go back t' the Doctor!"

One of the sailors stood up, pushing his chair back so quickly it rocked noisily on its legs. "Oh, he'll need a doctor all right, unless he comes along nicely, won't he boys?" The others caught their cue and set down their drinks, slowly getting to their feet as other patrons began to pull away from them. "Now, you aren't gonna be running away from us, are you Jackson?" The centermost man took a step forward as the others fanned out to hem in their quarry. "The Cap' will use your guts for fishbait and you know it." Ben stepped backward, running into Jamie who was pushed up against the velvet-covered wall.

The three made a concerted grab at Ben, who surprisingly didn't fight back, but none of them had quite reckoned with his companion. Trapped against a wall in a strange place with three hostile, burly Englishmen accosting them was more than the young McCrimmon could bear.

He jumped forward as they pulled Ben away, throwing all of his weight onto one of the sailor's forearms, twisting to break their grip, dragging them down. "Ben! Ye can't have 'im, y' blighted turnip!"

Ben blinked, snapping out of his confused submissiveness. "Y' heard 'im," he growled, "Lay off!" He abruptly fought back, adding his weight to Jamie's to roll all of them down to the floor.

The second sailor wasn't having any of it. Losing his hold on Ben he rapidly made up for it by wrapping a beefy arm around Jamie's throat and trying to throttle him. The Scot responded by reaching up behind to grab ahold of the man's ears, pulling for all he was worth. Rewarded with a pained bellow and a loosening so he could breathe, he pushed away and swung a fist only to be sent spinning, stunned by a blow from the third man, hard enough to knock him beneath the table in a clatter of chair-legs.

Ben had nearly bested his man, the two of them bouncing off the tables and grunting as they wrestled, but his victory was likewise short-lived. An full glass of lukewarm ale splashed into his face. He managed to knock it flying before it could second as a bludgeon, but his assailant as opportunity to bury his fist in Ben's midriff. He went down, half-blinded and gasping for air.

The last he saw of his friend was a still, crumpled form laying beneath a broken table as he was dragged away.

--

"Hey," a man's voice was saying gruffly. "Get up! Get out from under there." The toe of a boot nudged Jamie's ribs.

He groaned and slowly propped himself up, shaking his head to clear his vision and immediately regretting it. The whole side of his head was fiery and pounding.

The man, he now realized, was one of the dance-hall's ushers. He looked more annoyed than concerned with the well-being of this wayward patron and didn't offer so much as a hand to help. "We don't need your kind here, causing trouble like this," he grumbled. "Get out."

Jamie climbed out from underneath the table and reached out a hand to steady himself on it, scanning the darkened hall. The stage-lights seemed blindingly bright. Running a hand over his hair to be sure he wasn't bleeding, he hissed as he fingered a knot and shook out aching knuckles. If he hadn't been so worried for his friends he might not have taken the man's rudeness so tamely, but as he was already on his way out it didn't seem worth the effort. He made his way back up to the doors, various customers looking askance at the bedraggled young man, not meeting his eyes and plainly wishing he would stay far away from them. There was no sign of either Ben or the sailors.

There was no other answer; he ran for the Doctor.

--

Back at the science exhibits, the Doctor was thoroughly enjoying himself. Once his companions were supposedly safely ensconced in seeing the sights he'd consumed several mounds of fluffy spun sugar and cheerfully gone poking through any number of inventions, visiting with the scientists and their assistants who manned their exhibits and occasionally giving hints on small ways they might improve them. For their part, the men were pleased with the attention from one of 'their own', though they all found themselves vague about exactly which pavilion his own inventions might be housed in.

After one tour around the main building, he'd finally settled near a relatively engaging and interesting man who made good company in spite of his invention being rather ungainly and his views overly patriotic. Hubert Booth's invention was one the Doctor thought of as a near miss: a rather bulky petrol-powered horse-drawn vacuum cleaner. It was so close to something that really would be successful and yet not quite right.

"You see how it works," Mr. Booth had enthused, "The vacuuming force travels through these flexible wands. They can be run from the wagon directly into any business or home, and the dirt is drawn right out! No more hauling rugs out to be beaten, no more having to move all the furniture. Nothing tops the inventiveness of the British."

"Most pleasant," the Doctor nodded, biting back his thoughts on the improvements which would no doubt be along soon enough on their own. "A most useful application. I wonder how anyone ever got along without it. Now," he said, sitting down beside the man while carefully plucking at his sugary floss, "Tell me, out of curiosity, which inventions do _you_ think will be the most useful in the future?"

"Ah, we all love to dream of it, don't we? I've seen the papers, talking of what the future will hold."

"But what do you, in particular, think?"

"I admit I've indulged in a little pondering. I think we will see more civil application of balloons," Booth said seriously. "Personal balloons. Why, a person with one or two small ones properly harnessed might walk right across the water! Can you imagine children taking strolls across lakes in the summertime?"

"Lovely," the Doctor agreed. "Oh, do go on."

"And rail as well. Why, it's completely believable that we might have entire mobile communities, homes that could just be put on the rails and moved to another city whenever you wanted to go on holiday. Stores and museums could travel from town to town by rail. Just think, Doctor. The Louvre, coming to your own door!"

"Amazing. Perfect," his companion nodded. "Certainly a timesaver."

Encouraged, the man began waving his hands through the air with animation. "Ships could be fashioned of glass; they could go right under the water if you made them thick enough, why can you imagine it, Doctor? People could look right out the windows and see all the mysteries of the sea, yet stay completely dry. Britannia rules the waves, perhaps it could rule beneath the waves as well! Maybe run rails right across the ocean floor, eh? If we could find a good way to pump in the air from up above, why couldn't a train go right under the water and up the other side, don't you agree?"

The Doctor was wiping his sticky fingers on his handkerchief only to find it already too sticky to make any difference. He took off his tall hat and set in on the chair, fishing inside it for a clean one. "A train underwater? Are you suggesting something like a tunnel could be built across the English Channel, connecting Britain with France?" he suggested impishly.

Mr. Booth blinked at him and puffed out his chest a bit. "Well, I don't know if we'd ever want to do _that_, I really can't see… but yes… come to think of it, they could. Couldn't belong to France, no, but…" He scratched at his beard and smiled. "Maybe extra-long railcars. Or long balloons! Or balloons on trains! They could take people clear to the Americas that way, seeing as we're dreaming."

"A flight across the Atlantic?"

"Well, I concede that might be a bit _too_ far. Perhaps they could have boats they stop at along the way, for the passenger's comforts. I've even heard talk of electric boats, Doctor, though heaven knows what would happen if one ever sank. Could electrify the ocean, and then where would we be? But everything will be electric, someday, mark my words. Maybe even my vacuum cleaner." He reached over and gave his bulky invention a fond pat.

"Possible, possible," the Doctor smiled. "Though there's other power sources to consider as well, surely there must be."

Booth was pondering his vacuum. "There must be some way to harvest the power of the static electricity, I've been thinking, make the dirt stick to it. I haven't found it yet, but one of these young bucks might. We're on the verge of a great change for humanity, Doctor, what an amazing future our grandchildren will have."

"Our grandchildren?" The Doctor's eyebrows shot up, then back down.

"I've a granddaughter," Mr. Booth confided. "Fine, fine English girl. What income I can bring in with my little projects is helping pay for her schooling."

The Doctor looked out at the busy hall for a moment then gave his new friend a half-smile. "I've a granddaughter too," he admitted. "Also a fine girl."

"You've a granddaughter? Young one, then? They grow up so fast," Booth said amiably. "I sometimes wonder where the time's gone."

"Likewise."

"Anna's a good girl, but headstrong," Booth continued. "Some firm guidance can make all the difference when they're young, you know."

The Doctor pursed his lips with thought. "Yes. Yes, it can."

"I'm sending her to a lady's finishing school here in Paris. Her aunt and uncle insisted on it. Don't know why a proper London finishing school wouldn't be sufficient, but there you have it. Perhaps you'll have a chance to meet her. Fine girl. Looks like her grandmother did when she was young. Ah, youth. She's a very trusting child though, always wanting to believe in the best in everyone; a little naïve, perhaps, but that idealism of the young is good for old dogs like us, hm?"

"Quite."

"Which reminds me, I would like you to meet Mr. Diesel, he's quite brilliant, quite. Pleasant enough chap for one of those whatchacallums, idealists." said Mr. Booth. "His engine over there is simply a marvel, I have nothing but the highest respect for him even though," he chuckled, "He certainly beat me out of the prize. Prize money is presented tonight if you'd like to stay and see it. Not that there's that much to it, I suppose. Of course it's rumored he desperately needs the money, though his family seems to live like royalty. You never can tell."

The Doctor nodded agreement, wrapped a bit of floss around a finger and licked it off.

Mr. Booth looked around. "I don't know where he went. He's been practically living beside his machine, you know, as all of us have. Our inventions are our children, but I'm sure you understand that being a scientist and inventor yourself."

"Oh, of course, of course," the Doctor agreed absently. He finished off his current helping of candy floss, wiping his fingers on his fresh handkerchief, stuffed them back in his pocket and dug for change to purchase more floss. "Where would we be without them?"

"He's German, you know. Bavarian, really. Speaking of Germans, have you heard of that German chap, what was his name, von Zepplin? Why, he's built the most confounded amazing contraption, an air ship he calls it. It's not a balloon either, it has a sort of frame…oh, hello."

He turned in mild surprise as a breathless young man in traditional Scottish garb ran up to them, plainly distressed.

"Doctor!"

"Eh? Jamie! Where's…"

"They're gone! Polly was missin' and now Ben's been taken off, you've got to help me find them!"

"Goodness," said the grey-bearded man beside the Doctor. He peered over his spectacles at Jamie. "People going missing all over the place. Well, sounds like you need to be off, best of luck to you. Young people these days…"

-oo00oo-

A/N:

_The ride that Ben and Jamie take, in which small boats are sent through a darkened tunnel interspersed with lighted scenes was somewhat new at the time and may or may not have actually been there, but seemed within believability for its time. These rides were very successful and went on to be a staple of amusement parks, the best known being the 'tunnel of love' and 'chamber of horror' type variations._

_Predictions of the future are a fad at the turn of every millennium and 1900 was no exception. I borrowed liberally from an amusing (to us) set of postcards from that era, whose ideas Mr. Booth finds so intriguing. _

_._


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

-oo00oo-

Polly peered curiously at the plain two-storied stone and plaster house the carriage pulled up to, grateful it hadn't been a longer ride. She could still see the tip of the Eiffel Tower from where they were; a useful landmark whenever the time came to find her way back. She certainly didn't intend to stay here any longer than it took to find out why these people were so determined to believe she was someone else.

Passing through the narrow entry hall into a stuffy parlour, everything seemed dim after the brightness of the outdoors. Polly looked around the room with its dark green wallpaper, all striped with the red and tan bouquets that marched along it. A heavy wooden desk stood by the settee, topped by a cross-eyed soapstone Indian elephant that appeared to be part of a desk set. William brushed past her impatiently and Edith took her arm, pulling her back over towards the narrow stairway.

"Your uncle and I won't hear of you going back to that exposition unescorted like that, and I doubt your grandfather would either!" she lectured as Polly tried not to trip over the area rug at the bottom of the steps. "Your uncle is going to notify Mlle. Bray's school and find out the truth of the matter. You always were too headstrong for your own good, Anna. Now come." She gripped Polly's arm and firmly led her up; she had an impression of framed artwork, sketches of sailboats and fat women sitting at cafes as she tried to keep her feet beneath her. One thing she'd already learned about this woman was it was futile to argue.

"You'll have to stay in your mother's old rooms just up here, on the right. I fully expect you to use the time until dinner properly resting and thinking over your misdeeds as a lady ought. I'll fetch you when he returns."

With a small push she released the girl into a cramped, lemon-coloured sitting room with a bedroom adjoining then turned to go back out the door.

"Wait!" said Polly, suddenly feeling a stirring of panic. "You aren't going to just leave me in here! I need to get back to the Expo, my friends will be worried!"

"Your _friends_ will have to wait until we can find out if they are suitable company for a young lady to be spending her time with!" Edith snapped. "No more of this nonsense. I've had quite enough." She went out, yanking the door shut behind her. To Polly's horror she heard a key turning in the lock.

"No!" She protested, running to the door. She tugged on the knob, twisting it back and forth. It didn't budge. Knocking on it urgently she called out, "Edith! Let me out! Let me out! Wait, come back!" There was no reply. Faintly she heard the woman's shoes tapping down the stairwell. In despair, she smacked the wall then threw herself down on the ornate yellow chair. "But I'm not Anna…."

---

Rudolf Diesel looked out the small carriage window at close-built Parisian buildings rolling past and rubbed at his forehead. The weeks of promotion for his oil-run engine had been wearyingly long and while he understood the need to be there for the awards presentation that night, he'd figured it shouldn't take long to just go down to the wharf and back. A change of scenery would do him good and the attention was flattering. The sailors with him had been very earnest that he see modifications being made to their already unique turbine-driven ship and one of them, Rawdon Payne, as he'd introduced himself, had been especially pressing.

"The turbines could easily be adapted, I'm sure of it," he'd insisted. "They're steam now but why couldn't they be run on clean oil instead? It's brilliant! Think of all the good it could do if we can make it work. No more coal-smoke. Just _think_ of how many people would benefit!"

This Rawdon had been good company for Rudolf throughout the dull afternoon; Diesel was admittedly a bit of an optimist and utopian by nature; his mood had been lifted and his curiosity intrigued as the two men shared their dreams of coal-miners freed from hideous dark labours, clean skies, men and women speeding across the waters with ease to take aid to the needy, cheap sea-air voyages for poor medical patients.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he was wondering if he really should've left the exposition like this. The jostling carriage was only making his headache worse and the air off the river was both fetid and chill. Still, he had promised he would at least look at the engines. He glanced over at the sailors who were riding with him; it shouldn't be too hard to impress them with some technical jargon and head back.

The carriage bumped down towards the wharf, a wind-tossed banner strung between two opposing buildings proclaiming the way to the _Turbinia_. Drawing past the _Viper_'s more advertised sister ship, they found the moorage area still cluttered with the velvet-covered ropes and weighted signs that promoted her daytime appearances for sightseers.

Diesel looked out the window at the bobbing _Turbinia_ with surprise. "Such a small ship!"

"Only nine feet at the bows," acknowledged one of the sailors importantly. "She's really only for show. _Our_ ship is the real workhorse."

"I imagined her so much larger," Rudolf said, smiling thinly to acknowledge the man's naval pride in his own vessel. "The press, you may remember, made such a fuss about those exploits, outrunning the fleet at your good Queen's jubilee; I suppose the imaginings of public opinion must be what I am recalling."

The carriage slowed, then stopped, rocking as the man on top paid the driver and jumped down. Rawdon opened the door and stepped down, politely gesturing for Diesel to follow.

"We just need to get permission from our officer first," the sailor told him. "If you don't mind a short wait, you're welcome to come aboard. This is the _Viper_, she's our own vessel and I admit we're proud to show her off as well. Permission will no doubt be granted for such a well-known gentleman as yourself."

"Ah, The _Viper_." said Diesel. "Yes, I remember reading about the new Destroyer class ships. Turbine powered as well…"

As the man had promised, it was only a matter of minutes before they were returning to escort him aboard. He dutifully admired the vessel as they led him along to the gangplank to their apparent pleasure. The _Viper'_s hull slowly shifted with the movement of the river as they worked their way across the narrow gangplank and up to the deck, late afternoon shadows leaving them standing in blocks of shadow.

Rudolf paused to rub at his temples.

"Headache?" asked Rawdon asked with apparent sympathy.

"Yes. Not your fault, I'm afraid they do tend to plague me. But never mind, I'm used to it. I'll manage."

They all made their way along the boilers with the men, the _Viper_ moving slowly with a glug and sway as it nudged up against the pier, the darkening waters of the Seine sloshing moodily past. The ship was nearly deserted, every man who could be spared being off to enjoy the rare chance of attending a world exposition or taking in the entertainments Paris had to offer. The men, Diesel between them, didn't pause but escorted the bemused Rudolf towards the main cabin and then into a small room. One of them rummaged in a cabinet on the wall as he accepted a seat on a typically cramped marine bench.

"Here, Herr Diesel, I have something that may help with that headache. Our Navy has found it to be a great aid for our own sailors who suffer such maladies."

Diesel was sitting, his eyes covered by his hands and mutely accepted the small white tablets that were pressed into his hand along with a cup of water. With the manner of someone used to taking medicines, he automatically gulped them down. "Aspirin?" he asked. "Or an aspirin blend?"

"Close enough," replied one of them. "Make yourself comfortable. We'll be right back."

Rudolf vaguely noticed the sound of the door latch sliding shut behind them, locking him in. "What …." He stirred in mild alarm as the effect of the drug brought an overwhelming and unaccountable wave of sleepiness that spun his senses and weighed down his limbs. He inquired no further.

---

In the adjoining hallway, Rawdon Payne opened a small footlocker and pulled out a grooming kit. "He'll be out for hours, but we have to move quickly if we don't want to be caught." He opened a small jar of coloured pomade and rubbed it into his hair, combing it back in the same style as Diesel.

"I don't know about this. Won't his family realize you aren't him?"

"I'm the same height and build. Good enough for the press. His family won't even arrive in Paris for another week." He flipped opened a small case and carefully extracted a false mustache then dabbed at it with spirit gum.

"How did you know about the headaches?"

"I've read up on him," the man said pointedly as he finished attaching the false mustache to his upper lip, flexing his face to be sure it would stay. "And watched him. How could I expect to mimic him otherwise? He's had headaches like that for years, they say. Now help me. I'll need his clothes."

Opening the door to check briefly on the now supine man, he reached out and plucked the pince-nez spectacles from Diesel's front pocket, then set aside the inventor's wallet, but not before he scowling at a card folded inside it. He pulled it out briefly. "Look at this, 'Inventor Extraordinare'." He curled his lip. "He stole this idea, you know. These engines. Man who really came up with it went to school with my father, Akroyd-Stuart."

"What, he didn't think it up himself?" The man knelt to unfasten Diesel's shirtfront. "Why's he getting paid for it then? Isn't that illegal or something?"

"Phah. As if he cared about other country's laws. Bloody cheek, these Germans," Rawdon snorted bitterly. "Akroyd-Stuart was in Australia at the time, little enough anyone would believe him. Just like a German, stealing credit for everything other people do, taking it over." He struggled briefly to unknot the man's tie. "That's why I told him someone else was working on a change in the turbines. No doubt he wanted to steal their idea, irresistible."

"They were the ones behind old Boney, you know," said the other man, nodding sagely. "They're behind all the wars one way or the other, bribing governments. My grandfather said he met a man in a bar once who told him all about it. He knew." He unfastened Diesel's cuff-links and tugged at the shirt. "He said all Germans are like that. If they can't rule over other people they'll turn to raving nutters. It's in their blood."

"How much you think that prize money will be?" said the first man.

Rawdon gave him a tight smile. "You two'll get your fair share, if that's what you're worried about."

"When?" asked the second, pulling off Diesel's shoes and stockings.

Rawdon looked irritated. "Tomorrow night, after I've had a chance to shake them off my trail, of course. You want me to lead the police straight to you? He's bound to be discovered after a while." He pulled off his own jacket and shirt, muffling slightly as he reaching for the replacements. "Trust me."

--

Tired and resigned to his detention, at least until he could find a way out of it, Ben allowed himself to be taken aboard the _Viper_. It wasn't the way he had intended to see the historic turbine-driven ships, but he hoped he might at least be able to talk his way out with the senior officer if nothing else worked. Maybe this other 'Benny' Jackson would reappear and they would realize they had the wrong man. It was a common enough name.

They took him past the boilers and funnels, then past a pair of small cabin-like rooms towards the steps. He was concerned to see the slumped form of a man in a civilian suit inside one of them, one sailor watching while two others apparently worked at removing the limp man's clothes. He hesitated, pulling back against his escort. "I say, what's wrong with the bloke?" he called, sticking his head back by the cabin door. "Is he all right?"

"Never you mind," the one apparently on watch growled. He gestured at Ben suspiciously. "What's this?"

"Tryin' to be a deserter. Again." answered one of those still grasping Ben's arms. "We're just lockin' him up until the Cap gets back."

"Well, move on then." The door was summarily and abruptly kicked shut even as Ben's escort half-dragged him on, then down the narrow metal stairs. Belowdecks was, as usual, dark and cramped and smelling of coal, burlap, salt and fishy soup.

A round-faced man came to his feet at the sound of their approach, leaving his bowl of soup and a dog-eared book on the table beside him.

"Fielding!" One of them called out to him with mock cheeriness. "Found something in town that belongs to you."

"_There_ he is!" the man said with disgust. "I thought you would've learnt your lesson the last time, Jackson. Just figures it'd be on my watch."

"How did…" Ben started.

They moved him past the table as a door was opened to a small storage-like compartment that apparently also served as a brig. Ben staggered as he was pushed forward. "Found him ogling the floozies, probably looking for free drinks."

"Hey!" Ben protested. "Nothin' of the sort! I w…" He was stifled as one clapped a meaty hand over his mouth, the other pulling his sore arms behind him.

A fist waved in front of his face. "Been nothing but a gentleman, as usual. Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the officer. He'll tear your hide good this time."

They bodily shoved him into the small compartment and shut the door. Ben hit the back wall then scrambled to his feet only to smack his head on the low ceiling as the bolt slid home. There was a jumble of coarse talk and laughter moving away, then only the sound of the watchman returning to his soup as they clattered up the steps.

He stared at the tiny sliver of light beneath the door, alone in the darkness.

-oo00oo-

A/N:

_The 'Turbinia' was the first turbine-powered ship and the fastest ship in the world at its inception. It gained attention when it went gallivanting through the fleet at Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, easily eluding the pursuit. It's designer, Charles Parson, thus gained the monetary support needed to start building more turbine-driven ships. The 'Viper' was one of the first larger turbine-powered Destroyer class ships built for the Royal Navy shortly after, in 1899. Sadly, it foundered on the rocks in the fog in 1901, one of a string of misfortunes for its sister-ships that resulted in all snake-names being dropped from British naval vessels lest they bring bad luck. _

_Herbert Akroyd-Stuart was a part English, part Austrailian inventor who developed a slightly different oil-run engine within the same time period as Diesel's. He consequently became involved in patent disputes with Diesel over the various components and improvements on the engines and while Diesel was ultimately credited by history, Akroyd-Stuart did in fact develop several aspects of them first._


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

-oo00oo-

"I'm usin'_ my _quid to pay off the cook, maybe throw back a few rounds. Buy a new knife…. Good thing you're a tall one too, these trouser-legs are long…What're you going to do with your share of the money?" The sailor rambled nervously as he stood by Rawdon, helping him fasten Diesel's fashionable suspenders over the purloined shirt.

After a brief check on the fit of the trousers, he sat to pull on Diesel's low-cut pumps. "I'm getting out of this tub! Getting me a clean little sloop of my own, signing her papers tomorrow. Going to get me a girl too; she's meeting me tonight, going with me."

His companion laughed. "A girl? Willing to just go off with you? Now _that's_ a lark."

This brought a defensive frown. "Laugh if you like, but I do."

"Frenchie?"

He adjusted the stocking garters and stood. "Not on your life. English girl, just been staying in Paris. A real peach, too; more than any that'd give _you_ notice." Feeling the mustache to be sure it was firmly attached, he pursed his lips experimentally, smiled, frowned and winked.

"Can't see you bein' a married man."

Rawdon snorted. "I didn't say I was. Just told her I was getting an inheritance to take her off to an island and she fell like a ton of bricks. You should try it someday." His new outfit was smoothed one more time as he considered the unfortunate man on the floor.

His friend handed him the waistcoat and jacket. "What do we do with him now? Dress him up in something else?"

"No," Rawdon decided. "Drop a blanket over him and tuck it around. He's an eccentric inventor after all, no doubt he's used to sleeping in strange places."

---

The bedroom wallpaper was yellow with swooping lines of strawberries and ribbons. Polly stared at its reflection in a gold-gilt mirror, watching white curtains sway beside the single window. She'd waited for what felt like forever, calling out at regular intervals for Edith but the woman had not returned. The door had been tried multiple times before she flopped on the bed and lay there hoping inspiration would strike. What should she do? She was getting terribly worried about the others.

What would the Doctor do if he thought she was lost? While she was_ reasonably_ sure he wouldn't just leave her behind, this new version of him was sometimes a bit distracted by anything that caught his fancy. Not that the old one hadn't been, yet… what if he simply forgot about her? Moved on and left her here?

She looked up at the vaguely plaid red lampshade running her finger over its dangling glass beads. Jamie was a pleasant boy but she had the impression he might just go along with whatever the Doctor did, even if he protested about it. The very notion turned her stomach in knots; her only real comfort was the thought of Ben's reaction to such a thing. Ben at least would never leave her behind, of this she was certain. He never would. Ever. But she had to do her part as well.

Polly got up and began exploring the room for clues. The bedroom boasted little besides the narrow bed draped in its floral spread. Above it, a small wooden shelf of books and a trio of porcelain plates offered the only decor. The cedar press at the foot was filled with blankets, a couple of plain chemises and other assorted underclothing.

Back into the sitting room then. She searched the vanity, then the only other furniture with drawers, a small writing desk. A greenish bust of someone distinctly Greek-looking gaped blankly at her from beside a little yellow vase of silk flowers. Opening the desk, she was disappointed to find only a few sheets of writing paper, a small blotter and an old pair of lavender sachets that had lost their scent. Discouraged, she pulled open the lower drawer.

A small portrait looked up at her.

She stared at it, then slowly picked it up. The man in the portrait was familiar, terribly familiar. In fact… She turned it over and examined the back. This man was her great-great grandfather! She knew it because this same portrait now hung…well, would hang, in her own parent's home where it would be carefully displayed with a handful of other old family heirlooms along the stairwell. Only the version_ she_ knew was crackled and yellowed with age and this one was very, very new.

She trembled. If this was her great-great-grandfather's portrait _now_, then this Edith had to be - she furrowed her brow in thought - her great-great-grandmother's sister? And Anna was her niece. The spitting image of Polly. Or rather, Polly was apparently the spitting image of _her_.

The pieces fell into place however inconceivable the picture they formed; there was no alien interference, no nefarious plots. They simply thought she was her own great-grandmother.

Carefully setting the portrait back in its place, she rubbed at her forehead, then clutched her hair. "Oh, what am I to do about _this _now?" she asked the picture. "I don't want to mess up my_ own family's _timeline!"

Down below she heard the sound of the small gate creaking, steps coming to the door. William! He would be returning from that girl's school. Her heart beat faster.

As intriguing as it might be to have a chance to explore her own family's history this very personal way, she needed to get out. Now. It was just too complicated. What if she somehow altered something? When they found the real Anna at her finishing school, just where she was supposed to be, what would they do? How could she possibly explain? Or should she just keep insisting she wasn't a member of their family, even though in a strange way she _was_?

Anything dealing with time this way made her nervous. What would the Doctor have her do? She tried the door one more time, not really expecting it to open, then looked out the window. If she went along the ledge just a yard or so, she should be able to reach that lattice the neighbor had along the side. Maybe.

William's deep voice could be heard, replying to Edith's inquiry downstairs. She pushed the window further open.

"…They were quite relieved to know she's safe with us," William Stokely was saying down below, in the parlour. "Seems she went missing from the young ladies' walk early this morning and one of the girls saw her talking to some young man over the railings the day before. Simply reprehensible!"

"And they didn't notify us at once? Oh, what will we do with that girl?" Edith said, fanning herself unhappily. "Just like her mother. Just like her mother! Well, at least she's here now. We'll have to take her back right away."

"Not without a good reprimand first," William glowered. He hung his hat on a hook and pulled off his jacket, still flushed from his rapid walk. "I'll see she doesn't do it again anytime soon. Fetch me some water, will you dear? I'm parched. Then bring her down. I'll speak with Anna privately in the parlour."

Edith brought the water with a heavy heart, then slowly went up the steps to the rooms above, determined that the girl would not be permitted to continue in such foolish and dangerous behaviour. Talking to strange young men as well! Why, her poor old grandfather would tear out his beard at the thought. Taking the key from her apron pocket she turned it in the lock.

"Anna? Anna, it's me, Aunt Edith." She opened the door. There was no sound. Noting a lump on the bed she paused and squared her shoulders with resolve. Yes, even if the girl had sobbed herself to sleep in regrets, she couldn't be spared the appropriate reprimands. She marched up to the bed and shook the lump to wake it. "Anna! Anna…oh! What…" She pulled away the covers, tumbling a long pile of pillows and clothing. "Oh! Oh! William! William! Oh! She's gone!"

---

"Are you sure this is the right ship?" the Doctor asked as the tri-funneled vessel slowly rose and fell beside them.

"'Tis the _Viper,_" Jamie said reasonably, pointing to the hull. "An' that's the one those carnaptious ol' devils named. Why wouldn't it be this one?"

"Only that this is an unusual ship, here for the Exposition. I wondered if it might be a different one with a similar name. Well, let's take a look shall we?" He peered up at the ship. "Hm. We'll need a way to get aboard. I wonder where the watchmen are?"

Jamie scrubbed his palms on his kilt. "I can do it." He went to one of the thick mooring ropes and gauged the distance.

"What… Oh dear me. Er, oh, hang on…" the Doctor spluttered as his young friend abruptly swung out over the swirling, green-grey waters and began making his way up the swaying, bobbing rope. He swung down as the ship sloshed in the river's tide, quickly pulling up his legs to keep them from being crushed between the ship and the wharf then worked his way further up. The Doctor shifted his weight from foot to foot in concern. "Dear, dear, dear. Do be careful,..."

Jamie reached the top and after a moment of awkward scrambling managed to hook and lever his way up onto the deck. He gave a little wave and disappeared behind the boilers, reappearing further down where he puzzled a moment on extending the gangplank then set about cranking the winch that brought it out of its slot. It lowered towards the wharf in loud, jerking clanks. The Doctor winced at the noise, but no one came to stop them.

"C'mon," Jamie said in an unnecessary stage whisper, waving him up emphatically. The Doctor made his way up the ridged planking with Jamie reaching out a hand to help him onto the deck. "There's no one about, not that I've seen anyway," he added.

"They might be below," the Doctor noted, looking around carefully. "Very strange…. Best keep it quiet, just in case. If anyone asks, we're tourists who thought this was the _Turbinia_."

"Mixed 'em up. Right," Jamie nodded.

They made their way on a brief half-circuit of the deck towards the cabin, the Doctor proceeding cautiously with Jamie keeping watch behind. A cold breeze was blowing off the waters, stirring their hair everywhichway as he tried the nearest door handle. The cabin door thankfully swung open and they ducked inside, finding themselves in a short, cramped hallway. It was lined with coats and other gear neatly stowed, a second door leading to a room beyond.

"Ah, this will do nicely," the Doctor said with satisfaction. He plucked a full, blue jacket from the hook on the wall and added a hat. The coat was a little too big; he pulled it closed and fastened it up to hide his civilian clothing underneath.

"What kind of coat is that?" asked Jamie. "Tryin' t' be the Captain now, are ye?"

"No, no. This is the Purser's coat." He took a clipboard from a hook on the wall. "I shall be a purser making an inventory. That shouldn't elicit too much suspicion, they're sometimes sent from the yards. We know the brig will be below, so I'll go down and take a look. Something's bound to work out."

"For you maybe. What about me?"

"You stay up here. Keep an eye out for anyone coming, and for goodness' sake stay out of trouble."

"Since when do I get into trouble? It's usually me gettin' you out," Jamie grinned.

The Doctor's eyebrows quirked an opinion at him, then he was gone out the door. Jamie craned his neck at the little glass window, but he only went to the neighboring doorway. It was also unlatched; swinging it open revealed narrow ladder like stairs. The Doctor rubbed his chin, considering for a moment, then tucked his clipboard beneath one arm and carefully descended the steps.

Jamie took a breath and slowly let it out. Well, if he was going to be the one watching above, he ought to find out exactly what he was watching and maybe find a good place for an ambush, just in case. He went to the other end of the little hallway and pulled on the latch. It was unlocked. Slowly, he opened the door and peered into the small room beyond it then seeing a blanketed form on the floor, pulled back.

There being no sounds of alarm or even of consciousness, he slowly opened it again wondering if a guard had gone to sleep on the job. The blanketed figure on the floor was a tall forty-something man, with a high forehead and wavy dark hair already going white; something about the way he was laying there made Jamie wonder if the man was ill or perhaps inebriated. Whatever it was, it didn't look like a natural sleep.

Edging into the room, Jamie stooped and reached out a hand to tentatively shake the sleeping man's shoulder. "Hey. You there, are you all right?"

The man barely responded; his head lolled with the shaking, his lips only uttering a barely discernable groan. There was no smell of liquor, no flush of fever, no obvious injury - but plainly something wasn't right. Why had he been left here on the floor, and apparently clad only in his linen drawers?

"Och, Doctor," he muttered to his absent friend. "Looks like we've more helpin's on the plate than jus' Ben."

-oo00oo-


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

-oo00oo-

Lowering himself down the steps and into the narrow hallway, the Doctor carefully peered first one way and then the other, pleased to see only one man on watch and that one apparently napping. He stealthily moved forward, timing his movements with the ship's. The man in question half-lay over a small shelf-like table, an empty soup-bowl and a scatter of papers at his elbow, a book lay open beneath his hands and the small lamp beside him was running low.

The sound of someone's careful movements wasn't missed by everyone. Ben straightened up from where he was sitting in the nearly lightless, cramped brig they'd shut him into and listened with interest to the sound of someone's approach. He had no idea how long he'd been in there but it seemed forever in spite of his attempts to doze it away. The sound of the water, the creak of the ship itself and the occasional faint mumbling snore of his guard had been the only sounds for some time.

It didn't help that it left him with little to do but worry about his companions; had Jamie been badly hurt? Had he managed to get back to the Doctor? And where, oh where was Polly? He'd fretted terribly, imagining dozens of horrible fates that might befall a young woman in Paris, alone. The footsteps outside brightened him with hope: even if all it was was a higher-level officer at least he could try to explain the mix-up.

In spite of his care, the shadow and movement of the Doctor's approach might have brought a challenge if the watchman had been at all awake but everything remained quiet. The Doctor tiptoed closer, hunting for clues. Edging over to one of two likely looking doors he put an ear to it, listening for movement then tried the same on the second one. The ship swayed as the wake of a passing craft bobbed it higher against the wharf; beside him, the watchman's head lolled with it.

Edging over, he noted the paper at the sleeper's elbow was addressed to a 'Thomas Fielding' and decided it was close enough for the gamble.

The Doctor took a breath, adjusted his cap and brandished his clipboard. "Fielding!" he snapped.

"Sir!" the startled sailor jerked to awareness, knocking his soup-bowl clattering to the floor in his dismay. He scrambled to scoop it back onto the little table then stood, his body straight, his book-creased face imperfectly schooled into a semblance of alertness.

The supposed ship's Purser cleared his throat loudly, looking the watchman straight in the eye. The clipboard was waved beneath the man's nose and tapped importantly with a pencil. "Sleeping on your watch? When you knew there would be an inventory?"

Fielding, for it was him, tried to hide his confusion. "Inventory? I mean, yessir. Sorry, sir. I, uh, didn't hear of the change to the inventory scheduling…sir."

The Doctor's dark brows drew together sternly; he paced slowly past with an icy blue glare. The man paled and shifted uncomfortably.

"They didn't notify you earlier this afternoon? I'll see whomever is responsible fully reprimanded!" the Doctor growled. He then turned to a line of tall cabinets. "What's stored in these?" he demanded, pointing.

"Um, oilskins and galoshes. Sir."

"Open them!"

Fielding, completely unnerved by the unshakable authority of the smaller man's piercing eyes, fumbled to obey. He folded back the doors and stood at attention beside them as this strange Purser pulled up his clipboard and scanned over the contents, briefly noting something down. "You're two items short. They'll be replaced, at cost." He waggled a condemning finger at the contents. "That, over there is stored incorrectly. _ Those_ should be kept higher off the floor. I'll have to make a note of it."

"Yessir."

"Close and secure them." He turned to the wider storeroom door beside them. "This one."

"I, we can't open that one, sir," the distressed man protested as he latched the cabinets.

The Doctor gave him a stony glare. "What do you mean you can't? You can't or you won't, sailor?" He didn't move, but Fielding took a step back from him anyway.

"It's the brig, sir. I mean, it's usually just crates of tinned biscuit, but we've a… there's a man being held, sir."

The Doctor's brows furrowed even more deeply in disapproval. "I don't hear anyone," he stated. "What are you trying to hide? Squirreling away extra supplies are you? Purloined fruit? Contraband spirits?"

"No, sir. Really, sir. He's a… waiting for discipline, sir."

"I see." The Doctor tapped his clipboard again. "But I don't believe you. Nevertheless," he continued as Fielding took breath to defend himself. "I will not order you to open it. I _will_ make a note of it, however, and if a man _isn't_ in there I will see to it that you are personally held responsible. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir!"

"Very well." The Doctor turned pulled a piece of paper from his clipboard and scribbled a signature on it. "This needs to be taken to the _Turbinia_'s First Mate. You should find him at his post there. He's off-duty soon so this should be seen to_ immediately_. Take it!" He folded the paper over and thrust it into the man's hands. "I've got to finish the mess inventory within the hour. Be quick! Now!"

The sailor took the paper uncertainly. "But, I'm on duty here…" he began.

The Doctor drew himself up icily and narrowed his eyes. "And I'm superceding those orders, sailor! One more word of argument out of you and I'll have the Captain notified of your attitude and insubordination. Tell that Mate he's to follow those instructions to the letter or…"

"Yessir," Fielding said numbly. He took the paper and headed for the stairs then hesitated, looking back. The Doctor stood unmoving, staring at him challengingly. The man's gaze faltered, falling to his shoes. He started upward.

As soon as his steps moved away across the deck, the Doctor whirled around and unlatched the bolt behind him, swinging open the door. The tiny brig was barely large enough for both its inmate and the handful of crates still stored there. Ben squinted at the dim light, gratefully accepting the Doctor's hand up.

"What about Polly?" Ben blurted. "Did you find her?"

"Polly? Er, no. Not yet," the Doctor said with mild surprise at the question. "After all, we knew where to look for _you_."

"I was safe enough," Ben accused, bending to work the kinks out of his legs. "You should've left me and gone after her!"

The Doctor gave him an irritated look. "Well this way you can help us look."

Ben paused, mollified. "Sorry. I suppose I should at least be thanking you for getting me out! And that really was a grand charade." He imitated the Doctor's orders. "'Take this! Take that! Do it now!' Why, I'd almost think you were one of my own old officers. What did you give 'im anyway?"

"A paper from the Purser's office. It orders a complete inventory of the ship."

"An inventory of the…" Ben laughed. "What a lark! D'you think they'll believe it?"

"Long enough to get us off this one, I should hope." He closed the brig and locked it again. "This way."

They started up the narrow steps. "Where's Jamie?" Ben asked as he climbed. "Is he all right? I thought those blokes had his number when…"

"Oh no, or that is, no they didn't have his number, as you say. He's just on standing guard." They emerged onto the breezy, darkened deck and looked around. "Or at least he _was_…"

"There's a light in there," Ben noted, gesturing at the cabin door. The two of them carefully made their way over. Ben peeked in the small window then smiled and opened the door, crossing the hallway to step into the adjoining room. He clapped a hand to Jamie's shoulder, glad to see the young man was indeed both alive and well. His friend returned the implied sentiment with a nod.

"Glad t' see you're alive," Jamie observed. "An' apparently without bein' knocked about by any fierce Captains. Unlike this lad," he pointed.

Ben considered the blanketed form. "That's the bloke I saw when they were taking me in! Who is it?"

"I don't know," Jamie said. "He was like that when I found him. Hasn't any clothes."

"It was an odd thing," observed Ben, "Think he lost a round of cards?" He tilted his head at the man and rocked on his heels. "Doesn't look like the sailing type, does he? Doctor, come take a look at this."

The Doctor turned from where he'd been hanging the clipboard back in its place and stuck his head through the door to see what Ben was pointing at. He pursed his lips at the man on the floor. "Dear me. It appears we have more than one problem here, don't we?"

Edging past Ben, he knelt and gently turned the man's head from side to side, felt his pulse and briefly pulled back his eyelids. "Dear, dear," he muttered as he took up one of the hands to examine the fingernails then sat back, rubbing a forefinger over his chin.

"You have any ideas?" Ben asked.

The Doctor glanced up at him. "Ideas? Oh yes, plenty of ideas. Answers less so but possibly coming together. One thing that's obvious is this poor fellow's been drugged, most likely with some form of barbiturate. They were still somewhat new at this time. Judging by his condition, he'll hopefully wake up in the next few hours at most… I suppose we should prop him up a bit."

"Help me get 'im up on the cot, Ben," Jamie said. "I couldn't quite, alone." The two lifted him up, but the eyelids barely flickered as he was laid out. Jamie shook his head at the mystery man as he stuffed wadded jackets under his head and shoulders. "He's out all right. At least we know why you were brought in. Now I'm wonderin' why they brought _him_ here. Who is he?"

The Doctor shifted his jaw thoughtfully but didn't answer.

Ben shrugged and turned to the Doctor with his own question. "I was wanting to ask about that. How did they know me? I'm not from here, I mean now."

"I don't know…interesting, isn't it?" He began pulling off the Purser's coat, smoothing his own jacket down and tapping his fingers at the lapels.

"They didna call 'im Ben, though," Jamie pointed out. "They said Benny."

"Did they really?" the Doctor's eyebrows worked up and down. "The TARDIS didn't have any indication of temporal tampering when we arrived. Let's…" he broke off and went over the compact writing desk beneath the hanging coats, scanning along the a stack of manuals and notebooks with a finger. "Ah, here we are." A notebook was plucked from the middle of the set.

"What's that?" asked Ben.

"An' what do we do with this one?" Jamie asked as the mystery man mumbled and nearly tipped off the cot-bench they'd laid him out on.

"Just a minute," the Doctor replied, riffling the pages with concentration. "Here." He opened it to a page and turned it for them to see. "This is the entire ship's complement of sailors, here's the full-time and here's the part-time. Look."

Ben's eyes widened. "Benjamin Jackson," he said with surprise. "But…"

"And look, here is his birthdate. It's entirely possible this man is one of your ancestors."

"An ancestor?"

"Yes. Either a great or great-great-grandfather, or something similar, I expect, if the appearance is marked enough to cause such confusion."

"My great-grandfather?" Ben looked a little stunned.

"Or great-great," Jamie nodded, looking both amused and intrigued. "Were ye all sailors, then?"

"I don't know," Ben admitted. "I mean, my old Dad was in the Navy, in the war, I knew about that, but…"

"Taking ship runs in the family, apparently," the Doctor smiled, putting the notebook back and doffing his borrowed cap. "See? Not a problem at all."

The man groaned. They all turned to look at him. "This, however, is," the Doctor noted. "Unless he's _also_ got an unexpected lookalike, that man is very likely Rudolf Diesel."

"Who?" asked Jamie.

"Y' mean like the Diesel engine Diesel? _That _Diesel?" Ben asked.

"Precisely. Someone has gone to some noticeable effort to remove an influential inventor from the Exposition just in time for the awards." He scrubbed at his hair where the cap had flattened it, considering the man. "Now, to my recollection, Diesel was given to depression. Of course, barbiturates _can_ _cause_ depression, though we don't know if that was a factor. When he ran out of money I'm afraid he met a rather sad end. However!" he continued more briskly. "Depression and poverty should still be _several_ years in the future, not now! _Therefore_, we must conclude he is meant to have that prize money." The Doctor looked at the two of them and suddenly smiled. "Let's put him back where he belongs, shall we?"

-oo00oo-


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

-oo00oo-

Polly's fingers ached as she felt for another foothold on the creaking latticework; just a little further and she could safely drop to the ground. Immensely grateful for the huge bush that shielded her unusual antics from passerby, she looked back up at the empty bedroom window and winced as old rose-thorns pricked her hands. The wood and nails creaked softly over one another in complaint. She was concentrating so hard on her careful movements when someone placed a helpful hand on her calf to guide her foot and she nearly screamed.

A girl in a blue dress was looking up at her. She looked very much like Polly.

"Who are you?" she demanded as Polly lowered herself another notch and then finally dropped to the ground. She reached out a hand to help her up. "And what are you doing at my uncle's house?" the girl's eyes were wide as she took in their shared appearance. "You look like me!"

"I think we might be distant relatives," Polly said quickly. "Like cousins…or something." She reached up to adjust the hat that was sliding to the side. "It's a bit complicated. I was with my friends at the Exposition and your aunt and uncle thought I was you! They brought me here but, I, um, was just leaving." It sounded a bit far-fetched, even to her. She wondered how the girl would take finding a doppelganger apparently up to no good at the family home but soon found she shouldn't have worried, or at least not about _that. _

The girl grinned at her almost wickedly then rolled her eyes. "That sounds _just_ like them, they never pay attention to anything but themselves, I swear to you, I could paint my face green and they wouldn't notice the difference. I'm leaving too, I just wanted to fetch a couple things first. I see you already found the lattice, it's a perfectly luscious escape, isn't it? Just like in a book. I'm Anna, by the way."

"Polly. And this isn't a good time for talk," Polly cautioned, putting a hand to the other girl's arm as she reached for the lattice. "Your uncle is mad as blazes. You weren't at your school."

"You're dead right on that one! I'd rather choke on a dead fish than go back there again." She looked up at the lattice with a bit of disappointment, then shrugged. "Maybe I can come with you, then. Where were you going?"

"With me? I have to get back to the Expo. To the rides if I can find them. My friends are back there."

"That's where I'm going too then. La! What a lark! I was going to go later anyway. I'll go with you instead; come on, we can take a tram. I have some money."

"So you _were_ missing from your school today?" Polly felt as if a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders. Perhaps she hadn't messed up timeline events after all!"

Anna frowned at her defiantly. "I was. So? I won't be going back to that place anyway."

The two of them carefully slipped out from behind the shrubs, Anna pulling Polly expertly around a sheltering entry that blocked view from the house. Inside they could faintly hear the two voices carrying on to one another. "What about your aunt and uncle?" Polly asked. "They'll be looking for us - or you."

The other girl just laughed. "Not for a while. You should've seen the last time! I was here for the holiday, when the school was closed you know, and I slipped out to meet someone I know, but I knew they wouldn't approve, they're _so_ old-fashioned. Took them hours before they finally went to the police, thinking I was a runaway or kidnapped or something."

"What happened?" asked Polly, fascinated with the girl's lack of concern.

"It was just precious; while they were all out I just climbed back up the lattice. The police came to the house and there I was, reading in my room as a proper lady ought." She laughed and tossed her head. "Of course I pretended I knew nothing about it. Oh! Aunt Edith was so flustered! She matched her cherry hat, I thought she'd fall right over from hysterics! It was a sight."

They crossed a street and cut across a small park. Polly considered her words carefully as she wondered who else might be affected. "They said your grandfather was paying for the school. What about him?"

"Grandfather's a good old egg," she nodded. "but he has no idea what it's like there! It's so dreary, I can't even _begin_ to tell you and the other girls are positively unbearable. This way, there's a tram right over there. Actually, I have the most wonderful secret; I wish I could tell them about it but they'd _never_ approve, I just know it."

Polly raised her brows at the girl. "I'm all ears!"

Anna took her arm and hugged it as they walked together, looking for all the world like twin sisters on a stroll. "You wouldn't tell them, would you? Do you really think we might be cousins? It's too bad you can't come with me, we'd have the grandest time together but you see, I'm leaving tonight. Can you believe it? Leaving Paris!"

"What?" Polly said in surprise. "You aren't running away, are you? That's crazy, that's dangerous!"

Anna laughed lightly. "Oh no, I'll be safe! I'm going back to the Expo early to meet Rawdon. He's the one I slipped out to see before, you see, the most wonderful man! Not a Frenchman either, if that's what you're frowning about. He's been in the Royal Navy but he's to be released today, isn't it just scrumptious?"

"You're running off with a sailor?" Polly said in disbelief.

"Oh come! Not just any old sailor. He got an inheritance from a rich uncle back in London, not only money to live with but a real villa on a tropical island! We're eloping tomorrow, oh it's so exciting Polly! It was Polly, wasn't it? I can't wait to get away from this_ dreary _place. I'll get to live where it's sunshine and flowers_ all year long _and have a wonderful man to take care of me. Isn't it positively delicious?"

Polly smiled a response to her excitement though she was alarmed at the plans. Could the girl really be that naïve? Eloping at night on the promises of a sailor? Anna went ahead of her, climbing onto the tram. If she ran off with a rake she really _would_ be history.

"Yeah. Right," Polly hissed cynically to herself. "Tropical villa? There's a load of…" She followed Anna, negotiating her skirts into the seat beside her look-alike. She couldn't believe anyone who resembled her so closely could be so stupid.

---

Jamie and Ben wrestled the tall man into some ill-fitting rumpled slops that the Doctor had produced from a sack waiting to be laundered ("Not much of a Purser, are you?" ribbed Ben), then stuffed his feet into a pair of seaman's boots. This done, they heaved him up and shouldered the man's weight to maneuvered him across the tiny cabin and out onto the deck. The long blocks of shadow were vanishing into the thickening twilight over the water. They were grateful for the lack of guards.

"I wonder where the watch is," Ben wondered, not for the first time.

"They must've been the lads that did this," Jamie said, nodding his chin down at the heavy man they half-carried, half-dragged toward the gangplank.

"A distinct possibility," puffed the Doctor.

"What? There's a man here!" Ben said, stumbling over a form on the deck.

"Another one?" the Doctor said with concern. "I hope this isn't an inventor too."

They lowered Diesel to the deck to take a better look.

"Oi!" said Ben in astonishment. "That bloke looks like me!"

"Mister Benny Jackson, I believe, but, eh, somewhat the worse for spirits," the Doctor said. He came over and nudged the unconscious man, turning his head and briefly examining him. "Habitual, would be my guess."

Jamie wrinkled his nose at the reek of smoke and alcohol even on the open deck, shaking his head in amazement. "He really _does_ look like you, Ben, if your hair was shorter. No wonder they mixed the two of y' up. What do we do? We don't just leave the lad all lollin' about here like this…do we?"

The Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We'll put him in that holding cell," he decided.

"Good thinkin'," Jamie agreed. "They won't be missin' Ben that way."

"It's just as well he's insensible," grunted the Doctor as they propped Rudolf more firmly against one of the boilers and stooped to lift Benny. "This way he won't have seen you. Stay here with this one, Ben, we'll take Mr. Jackson down. Get his arm there, Jamie, will you? And no trouble with the natural flow of events apparently. He really _would_ have been late for the end of his leave." They lifted the limp form and began working their way back the way they'd just come. The Doctor looked back at Ben. "Oh, Ben. Fetch that bottle your probable-grandsire dropped, will you? We'll use it to explain Mr. Diesel's condition to a cabbie."

"Aye!" said Jamie with a grin. "Jus' don't drink it yourself."

Ben watched them shuffle and maneuver the unconscious sailor down the steps to the brig, disappointed. "My great-great-granddad was a sot?" He couldn't believe anyone who looked so much like him could be so stupid.

---

Two young women in blue descended to the pavement from the tram amidst a mixed crowd of homebound locals and visitors coming to gawk at the nighttime electrified displays.

"Oh Polly, I wish you could come with me now. Here we've just met and I feel like you could be my long-lost sister," Anna sighed dramatically then she took Polly's hands in hers and smiled at her brightly. "You simply_ must_ give me a calling card so I can write to you from our island."

Polly nodded. "What's the island called? Where is it? Do you know if it has a post?" she asked, still hoping plumbing for some mundane details might bring a shot of reality to Anna's dream world.

"Oh, I don't recall! Isn't that silly? Saint something-or-other, or some kind of bird. Oh, don't look so concerned; I just hate it when people are all frowny with me. With a Saint name, it's bound to have a proper church and everything will be very Christian, I'm sure. I shan't be left with savages or anything, not with my dear, dear Rawdon to look out for me." She tucked Polly's hand in the crook of her arm and walked with her down the narrow sidewalk. "He calls me his very own little English honey-bee, isn't that just the sweetest thing?"

Polly was grateful the girl was distracted by the novelty of the two of them reflected in a glass shop window just then; she couldn't think of a single supportive thing to say to such a sickening travesty of a courtship and dared not voice her real thoughts.

"Isn't the sunset beautiful?" Anna declared. Polly, who thought it a bit second-rate, merely nodded. The shadows were rapidly gathering into twilight and the electric lights of the Exposition began to shine out as the city dimmed. Where had the time gone? It must have been hours since she'd left her companions. Her stomach knotted at the thought.

"I was already inside the boat tunnel" her companion was prattling on. "Have you seen that ride?"

"Yes," Polly answered with feeling. "Though I haven't been in it."

"Rawdon and I went on it together this morning," simpered Anna with a little blush. "It has the most _charming_ scenes set up, from all through history. I hadn't seen them before because Aunt Edith said some of them were just too French, isn't that funny? Here in _Paris _and she thinks it's 'too French'…. Well, Rawdon showed me where one of them has a back door, the one with Joan of Arc, though I told him I would rather be Cleopatra, but that was a bit naughty of me, don't you think? My carpet-bag's already hidden in there. We'll go off in a ship and never be seen again," she said, fluttering a hand through the air. "I think it's just terribly romantic, don't you?"

Polly grit her teeth, still trying not to say anything, though God knew if ever there was a timeline she wanted to change, this was turning out to be it.

"I suppose…Though your family really is going to be worried sick about you," she finally replied, not quite able to keep all of it in.

"La! They'll get over it. They've delightful brioche over there and I'm just perishing, do you want one?"

"No, thank you," Polly said, her eyes on the entrance gate across the crowded way. She could see some of buildings in the distance shining now with the new electric lights.

"Well, I'm going to get some before it closes. I still have three-quarters of an hour before he's supposed to come. I'll meet you there?"

"All right," Polly conceded. Leaving Anna near the patisserie, she was finally free to turn her tired but anxious feet back toward the Expo. As she crossed, she gave no notice to the pair of sailors escorting a well-dressed man nearby.

Rawdon looked angry. "What's she doing here?" he hissed.

"You know her?"

He looked annoyed. "That's my girl, but she's not supposed to be here yet."

His companion whistled. "Ooo-wee, that's a pretty one all right," he nudged the other sailor. "Take a look. That's the one he's got tomorrow."

The other sailor was troubled and worried. "You told her we would be here? What if she spills it?"

"No! She was just supposed to meet me later. Anyway, she's too stupid to suspect anything."

"Well, remember to keep your head down. We don't want extra attention if she recognizes you, Rawdon. And look, she's going the other way."

"Doesn't matter, she's going off that way," the other said.

"And _you_ remember, I'm Herr Diesel, not Rawdon, you fool. Now go on, get that carriage ready. It's almost time."

---

Polly hesitated where the path forked, one curving away towards the rides and amusements where she'd left Ben and Jamie earlier. The other would take her to the inventions the Doctor had wanted to see. She bit her lip, then headed for the rides. Ben and Jamie must just be frantic by now; she owed it to them to at least check there first.

A brief scan of the games and carousel yielded nothing. She was walking past the boat-ride with the vague idea of taking the Ferris wheel up to see if she could spot them from above when a now-familiar voice called out her name.

"Polly! Did you find your friends?"

Polly turned. "Anna! I'm glad to see you're still here! And no, not yet."

"I'm not here for much longer," the other girl smiled, giving her a brief embrace in greeting. She tossed her head and put up a hand to her forehead. "I'll be swept off my feet soon, you know."

Polly shook her head at the girl's laughter. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this? It seems so…"

Anna rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Oh, Polly. Honestly! You sound like my aunt!"

"I was just thinking they _would_ be worried," Polly said, biting her tongue back on dozens of other things she wanted to say.

"La! Thank you for reminding me! I wrote out a note for them." Anna paused to unbutton the flap on her fitted coat's pocket, pulling out a square of paper. "Here, you're being such a good friend for me, would you take this to my grandfather?" Anna pressed the bit of folded stationery into Polly's hand. "He's really a very nice old man, it's just time for me to find my own life; still, I don't really want him to fret. His name is Mr. Hubert Booth, he's a _very_ famous inventor, he has an actual invention on display here, over at that building. It's the one with all the machines; you'll see his name by his display. See that rooftop there? Not that one, the taller one."

Polly followed her pointing hand, blinking as she recognized the same building the Doctor had originally landed them in, though it was now in silhouette as the daylight faded. She fingered the paper. This girl was determined to go headlong into obvious folly. How much could she push without changing the time-line? "Why don't you come with me?" she tried hesitantly. "You can tell him yourself."

"Oh no. I need to get back inside. Like I said, my carpet-bag is already there, I only came out to get a little air. Now I just need that attendant to look away again." She leaned in closer to Polly, confiding. "I didn't need much. Rawdon said the air is so warm at the villa I wouldn't need many clothes. He's going to buy me new summer gowns when we get there," she simpered, and turned back to the ride.

"And your very own bridge, no doubt," Polly muttered. "Look, I'm going to search the carousel over there, then I'm going to go find the Doctor."

Anna looked back at her in surprise. "A doctor? Are you all right?"

"No, that's…I mean, yes, I'm fine. The Doctor is a friend of mine. I think maybe he could help."

"Help you look?"

"Well, yes. And maybe help you too."

"But I don't need any help," laughed Anna. "You do!" She gave Polly another brief embrace. "Go on, find your friends. Look, as soon as that family with all those children gets there, I'll just slip back inside. I'll be fine! Oops, looks like that's now. Good-bye, Polly." Polly reached out a hand, but Anna would not be dissuaded. She pulled away and was gone, slipping between the railing and the wooden sign that hid the narrow back service entrances.

Polly opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. It was no use. Maybe this is what really happened to her flighty ancestor, she thought. Maybe it all turned out, somehow. Such attempts at rationalizing didn't do anything to stop the horrible sinking feeling inside. She hugged herself and looked around at the crowds, feeling very alone.

-oo00oo-


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

-oo00oo-

Hubert Booth sat beside his machine and unwrapped the generous sandwich, cake and pickle he'd brought along for his supper. It had been a long day and he was grateful for the waning of the crowds as the light faded outdoors, though he found he rather missed that interesting Doctor's company. He'd been hoping whatever that problem was that made someone go missing it might have been resolved, but so far there'd been no sign of him returning. He set aside half of the sandwich and cake optimistically just in case his new friend should return, then contemplated the fat dill pickle in its waxed paper. It would be ridiculous to split that, he decided and picked it up to take a generous bite.

The timing was unfortunate. When he turned to sit down he nearly spit pickle in Polly's face with surprise.

"Anna!" he managed, gulping. "Pardon me, my dear." He coughed slightly and then took the girl's elbow to guide her into the seat beside his. "Oh, pardon again," he added as he scooped the Doctor's abandoned stovepipe hat from the seat before she squashed it. "My goodness, what a surprise. Whatever brings you all the way over here? Are your aunt and uncle with you? They were here earlier today and I thought…."

Polly accepted the seat, putting up a hand to interrupt. "First of all, am I right that you're Mr. Booth? Anna's grandfather?"

He frowned at her in confusion. "Of course I am, what do you mean by that? Is this some kind of game? Anna…"

Polly shook her head. "Please, just listen a moment," she insisted. "I know this may be a bit difficult for you to believe, but I'm _not_ Anna. I know I look like her, but I'm not."

Booth opened his mouth, closed it, then opened and closed it again. Feeling foolish, he took another bite of pickle. "Amazing," he mumbled around it. "Resemblance."

"I have a note here for you," she continued, unfolding a bit of paper. "From the real Anna. Her aunt and uncle mixed us up as well, I…met them earlier." She stopped. How much could she say without changing events? Had Anna's grandfather intervened in his granddaughter's fate? She was really wishing she'd paid attention to more of her own family history. The old man was peering at her closely, still chewing on his pickle.

"Did you now? Amazing resemblance," he repeated. "But yes, your voice is a little different. Tonal range. Difference in the eyes…."

Slightly disconcerted at the inspection, Polly pushed the note into his hands. He took it and started to absently put it into his pocket, then pulled it back out and opened it. "Hm," he said, frowning. He looked back up at Polly then read it over again. "Anna is supposed to be at her finishing school," he said. "Mlle. Bray's. Fine school, or so I'm told. Costs enough it ought to be." He looked up at Polly again and squinted suspiciously. "Where did you get this again?"

"From Anna!" Polly replied impatiently. Was he senile? "She's…"

"Leaving," he finished shortly, looking back down at the paper. "Yes, yes I see. Of her own free will? Did you receive this from her own hand?"

Polly recalculated the man's intelligence and brightened hopefully. "Yes. But…well, it isn't as if anyone is really _making_ her go, except…"

"Is there anyone going with her?" he asked suddenly and sharply. "Is it anyone _you_ know?"

"What? Me?" Polly blinked at him. "_I'm_ not the problem. You see, she has someone who wants her to go with him…"

"Him! A man, then. I might have known. Some French rapscallion after our Anna! I won't hear of it, I tell you. I won't! How long have you known about this?"

Polly huffed a breath of annoyance. "Only today, when we got mixed up because we look alike! I'm _trying _to help here. Look, I don't know how much influence you have over her but it's got to be more than mine. I don't know anyone around here. Except…" she paused, her eyes on the stovepipe hat that now sat beside Booth's sandwich. "Where did you get that hat?"

"Eh? I'm watching it for a friend of mine, a doctor. Why? Do you know him? He went off looking for someone who'd gone missing." He handed her the hat. "Were _you_ missing, perhaps?" His eyebrows went up inquiringly.

"A doctor? Yes!" Polly said. She took the tall hat and ran her hands over it, smoothing it. The satin band was sticky from candy floss. She smiled up at him. "Definitely his. And yes, I'm afraid I probably worried everyone sick when I was dragged off by those people. He was probably looking for me. Will the Doctor be coming back here, then? And what about Anna? Can't you do anything about that?"

"You're a puzzle, that's to be sure," he replied, his eyebrows climbing even higher. "The Doctor goes off looking for someone and it turns out to be my own granddaughter, except it isn't. Strange world." He looked back down at the bit of paper and took a breath. "And as to my granddaughter. In my experience when a young girl tells her grandfather not to worry about her because she'll be happy, that's the time to start worrying because she most likely won't. Especially if there's a man involved whom she hasn't properly introduced to her family."

Polly waited a moment as he stopped, staring at the last of his half-eaten pickle, apparently lost in thought. He finally popped it in his mouth and stuffed the vinegar-soaked wax-paper into his pocket. "I must be present for the awards presentation," he said around it. "That's why I've stayed on tonight." He swallowed and dabbed at his beard. "As soon as they come through, I'll go see what that wayward child is up to this time. Shouldn't be but a few minutes."

"Then you'll go to her? I'll show you where she is."

He nodded firmly. "Certainly. But in the meantime I recommend you stay here with me, until that Doctor gets back. No reason to go missing all over again. We'll make the best of it, shall we? You can even have his share of the meal, seeing as he's obviously an energetic man and you look fit to blow away on the wind."

---

The Doctor handed the cab driver a handful of coins, climbing from the seat. "I'll get the door, thank you," he said. The man shrugged and reached under his seat for a bottle as his unusual passengers disembarked near the entry gates. After the initial novelty of the exposition crowd's variety, he, like most of the cabbies in Paris, had reached a level of jadedness that nothing could shock or interest them out of.

The carriage springs squeaked as Ben and Jamie struggled to help the barely conscious inventor out onto the street, then up onto the walkway. Leaving their transport behind, the three slowly wrangled him to the gate where he was lowered to a bench for a breather. The Doctor consulted a wary passing man for the time and came back to them wringing his hands together.

"This is taking entirely too long. If we're correct and that sailor is after this fellow's award, we've got to be there when they're handing them out. I doubt they'll believe us without the evidence, even if he does look a little disreputable at the moment." He looked around for inspiration. "Either way, at least one of us should go ahead and warn them if we can. Hm."

"You're the one who knows what to tell them," Ben noted logically.

"I'm goin' with you," Jamie put in." You know there's bound to be trouble if you go alone."

"No, I'll go," contradicted Ben. "We still don't know what's happened to Polly! What if she's been there, by the TARDIS all this time and none of us were around?"

"One of you has to stay with Mr. Diesel," the Doctor pointed out, "And help him make his way back to his invention." He dug in his pocket and extracted a random coin and glanced at it. "Heads… er, Argian queen's eyeballs it's Jamie, Argian rastophrax it's Ben." He flipped it in the air and caught it on his forearm. "And the eyes have it," he announced. "Come along, Jamie." Without any hesitation the Doctor trotted away.

"Eh? Oh, aye!" Jamie said. "I'll watch for Pol," he added over his shoulder as he ran to catch up with him.

"I…hey…!" Ben protested to the air. He sat back and unhappily considered his charge, slumped on the bench next to him for all the world like a classic drunken sailor and sighed.

---

Polly finished off the last bite of cake and settled back in the seat beside Mr. Booth. He was good company and in spite of the circumstances he soon set her at ease. Having eaten, she was feeling much better and in spite of her lingering worries about both her companions and Anna, she found herself taking an interest in the upcoming awards simply because _he_ was so interested.

He sat back in his own seat, shifted and consulted his pocketwatch. "The committee for the awards should be here quite soon, quite soon. I wonder where Diesel's gone off to? They were going to that American fellow, the one with the moving stairs first. Have you seen that one? An 'Escalator' he calls it. I found it a bit worrisome myself. Too easy for lady's hems to be entangled."

Polly was looking around at the nearly deserted hall. "I thought there would be more, well, fanfare and people taking pictures and things," she noted.

"Taking pictures? Do you mean the photography, young lady? What an interesting turn of phrase. 'Taking pictures.' Oh yes, they already did all that; all those loud, ceremonious announcements were for the public last week. Rumor had it they would even take it in a _moving_ picture, but that was nonsense, of course. They never want to call as much attention to the presentation of actual cash prizes."

"I can understand that," she agreed. "Money does strange things to people."

"Sadly true. That's why it's in the eveningtime as well, everyone is off admiring all of those electric lights…have you seen how many they've installed? No? You'll have to have your friends take you, it's not to be missed." He smiled at the girl, marveling again at her amazing resemblance to his own Anna. They could have been twins, except for the eyes, a slight difference in the curve of the mouth, the way her hands moved; this Polly had a more willful, purposeful look to her. Perhaps she'd already been through a finishing school. He had just taken breath to ask when he was interrupted by the arrival via the side-door of a small crowd of men, most older and distinguished looking. They made their way past to the Diesel Engine display.

The two of them watched as a tall man wearing a pince-nez stepped forward from the shadows of the large engine to meet them.

"Eh?" Booth said suddenly, frowning. He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and nudged Polly's arm. "I say. Something isn't quite right here. No." Diesel had been missing for hours now and he'd thought his fellow inventor might have lain down, knowing the unfortunate man to suffer headaches. But now…

"That gentleman there, the one they're talking to…"

"That's the inventor, isn't it?" She looked over to where the wavy-haired man was engaged in bowing slightly, shaking hands with the committee members. The artistic sketch that accompanied the description of the engine certainly resembled him, pince-nez, moustache and all.

Booth frowned and adjusted his spectacles again.

Outside the framed-glass doors, the Doctor gave Jamie's arm a tug to slow him down. "Careful now, Jamie," he said in a low voice. "We don't want to just rush in on it. I'm sure there was a side-entrance over this way…"

Jamie peered briefly inside. "Hey, there's Polly!"

"Is she? Ah! Looking well. See? We didn't even need to worry. Come along." They quickly but casually made their way along the building's front walk, then slipped behind a topiary and down the side, out of the glare of the lights. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, Jamie kept his fingertips on the Doctor's back to keep from running into him as he ducked past the lit-up rectangles of window from dark to light and back again. He suddenly paused. "Jamie."

"Hm?"

"Now that we know Polly is all right and here, I don't think we're both needed. You run back and help Ben. The sooner we get Mr. Diesel back where he belongs the better. There's another scientist in there who will probably be a help for me. I'll talk to him first."

"And just leave you here? There's a kidnapper in there with Polly, y'know." Jamie pointed out.

"And plenty of other people. He's only one man and I doubt he's armed. His weapon of choice is apparently pharmaceuticals, and there's no way he'll be subduing us with that." he waved his fingers at his young friend to move on and ducked away to the next patch of shadow. Jamie hesitated, then headed back.

-oo00oo-


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

-oo00oo-

"Doctor!" Polly said happily. She jumped up from where she'd been sitting by Booth, who also came to his feet. "It's so good to see you!"

"Polly." The Doctor briefly shook her hand. "Been having a pleasant day? Mr. Booth, I've something I need to talk to you about rather urgently if you don't mind." He turned, taking the man's elbow in hand to steer him away from her. Polly blinked at him, then blew out a breath of annoyance and sat back down.

"Doctor, I'm so glad you're finally back. I've the most terrible suspicion. You see that man there? That man isn't Rudolf Diesel!" Booth said, pointing emphatically. "You may not believe me but…"

"Hush, hush," the Doctor murmured, sidling up to him and setting a finger aside his nose. "We know. We have the real Mr. Diesel safe, but we don't want this one to just to go running off, now do we? The authorities should be here soon. Just go along with it so he doesn't bolt, there's a good fellow."

"But, why Rudolf? What have they done to him? He wasn't injured was he? He's a good man, and a pacifist at that. Why, why, he never hurt anyone!"

The Doctor shook his head. "That man appears to be quite bitterly anti-German. I think he's using Mr. Diesel's heritage as an excuse to rationalize stealing his prize. Along with kidnapping and impersonation, of course."

Booth abruptly pulled away from them and marched purposefully right over to the mimic where he was still nodding and smiling at the committee. Pushing through the surprised assembly he unceremoniously reached out and ripped the man's false moustache right off his face.

"This man is a fraud!" he announced over their startled protests. "He's not Rudolf Diesel!"

Amid the shouts of the men around him, Rawdon's brief shock quickly gave way to anger. He snatched the awards packet from the presenter's astonished hands and violently pushed his way through them. Elderly men staggered as they were abruptly shoved into their neighbors.

---

Startled, the committee men all began demanding explanations at once and mistakenly reached out for Booth as the source of their confusion. None seemed to have the presence of mind to seriously hinder the mysterious man now fleeing across the polished hallway and out the opposite doors, packet firmly in hand, though a few stuck out limbs and were pushed aside for their trouble.

"Polly!" came a voice across the uproar.

Polly whirled, her face lighting with relief. "Ben!"

He was half-bent beneath the weight of a slumping tall man whose arm he held drawn across his shoulders.

"Where have you been? Who is this?"

"He's the real deal, the one that fake was pretending to be," Ben said, gesturing with his head. "We've been gettin' this poor bloke out of the carriage and back over here but it took longer than we thought. Someone in this lot should be takin' him to a flat, I think."

"He looks just awful."

"Oh, he'll be all right. The Doctor came up with some mix or other, poured it down his throat." He looked around the room as Jamie returned from his brief search for the Doctor to share the tall man's weight again, helping to lead him towards his fellow inventor.

"Jamie!" said Polly. "I'm so glad you're all right too. I was so worried when I couldn't find you."

"Ye're one to talk," grumbled the Scot good-naturedly as he pulled Diesel's other arm over his shoulders.

Ben gave her a nod of agreement. "You went missing first, Duchess" he pointed out.

Over in the crowd, the Doctor pushed his way in and took Booth's elbow. "Pardon me, gentlemen… just a moment…" He drew him to the side and indicated the rumpled man Jamie and Ben had just propped against the opposite side of the cart-drawn vacuum machine. "Mr. Booth, sir," he called, "would you mind watching after our friend here?"

Booth came trotting over giving a small exclamation of dismay. "Rudolf!"

"Aye, he hasn't had much of a day… " Jamie said, adjusting the man's slumping angle and pushing the borrowed sailor's cap back from his eyes. The ill-fitting sailor's slops didn't make the effect any better.

The other inventor looked quietly apoplectic. "I hope they lock him up, put them away; these _Frenchmen_, they're always…."

The Doctor's eyes twinkled slightly at that. "Sorry old fellow, he was British. A member of the Royal Navy too."

"He…what? An Englishman? I'm…I'm shocked, humiliated, outraged!" He turned to the Jamie and Polly. "I implore you young people, do_ not_ think this…this ruffian is a representative example of the English people. It's an aberration, a… I am ashamed to think that something like that could have come out of Britain."

"Oh, no, we weren't," Polly assured him.

"S'all right w' me," Jamie shrugged.

"He'll be all right. We need to go get that prize money back, right away," Ben urged. "That rascal needs the tar beat out of 'im…"

The Doctor was already heading out the doors again, Polly and Ben following after. Surprised and concerned, Booth took in the rumpled man's pale countenance as he accepted his arm from Jamie. "This man needs a doctor!" he exclaimed to the young Scot. "Can't your Doctor…"

"He's not that kind o' doctor," Jamie said. "Or at least I don't think so. Usually. Maybe!" He shrugged again apologetically and ran after his companions who were already on their way out, Ben gesturing urgently for him to follow.

---

"It's no use." The portly gentleman gasped next to the Doctor, his committee ribbon skewed across his heaving chest. "Where else can we look? He could be anywhere by now."

The Doctor didn't reply, but seeing as the man was steaming like a pudding on the stove he did peel out a sticky handkerchief and handed it to him for his brow. Leaving the man on his bench he turned back to his companions and steepled his fingers, tapping them on his chin. "Historically, Diesel received that prize money," he murmured to them. "So he needs to get it back somehow."

"Easy t' say," Jamie mumbled back. He and Ben were morosely flopped in various attitudes on the grass behind a set of benches, catching their breath. Polly was in the best shape, having already figured out what happened if she ran wearing a corset; while they'd been running in large loops around the paths she'd been acting as checkpoint. Still, given the chance she'd declared her feet were killing her and had wasted no time joining them down on the turf.

"Only so many ways out, isn't there?" the bench-man wheezed.

"The men at the gates haven't seen him, still, plenty of other ways he could go," one of the others, a thin gentleman with a thin grey beard added., his own face blotchy from exertion. He silently counted off options on his fingers. "He could be in any of the buildings… I think we're wasting our time, gentlemen. But that was no small sum, either."

"Well, he's bound to be caught eventually," another one said as he limped up and lowered himself to the other end of the bench. "Ill deeds meet ill ends, as it's said." He got back up and began limping his way back to the main building, the others slowly following.

"Yes, yes. Quite. Go on. Oh yes, by all means, do make sure someone's notified the authorities," he said. "We'll be along shortly." The Doctor commented as he watched them go. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small toffee which he promptly popped in his mouth.

"What, aren't ye gonna share?" Jamie asked.

"Y' already used up a king's inheritance of sweets," Ben jibed. "Next one's mine."

"King's ransom, you mean, not inheri…Oh!" Polly suddenly sat up.

"What?" asked Ben and Jamie together.

"Oh! I know where he'll be. I know exactly where he'll be!"

The Doctor's brows disappeared into his fringe as he chewed his toffee. "Do you? How interesting!" He glanced back as if to be sure none of the committee men were still in hearing then turned his attention back to Polly. "Now, my dear, tell us all about it."

--

Waiting in the darkened tunnels for her ill-starred suitor, Anna fretted with boredom and impatience. The wooden face of Joan of Arc wasn't nearly as charming as she'd first seemed from the boats and her badly painted back giving her an unflattering shabbiness in spite of the carving being nearly new. The paint-gilded cherubs above were likewise doing a poor job of illustrating divine favor, their lopsided expressions featuring eyes that bulged as much as their stomachs.

Anna had surreptitiously observed a number of the small novelty boats bobbing past, but none held any face she knew. She leaned back against Joan's cold pyre, fighting to stay focused on all the promises and bright dreams that had brought her there. Surely everything would be better soon, she'd at least be away from that horrid school… Falling into a reverie she allowed herself to daydream about her island life, and was so lost in the thought of how she might arrange tropical flowers in her hair each day that the door creaking open behind her made her jump and squeak.

"Anna?"

She fluttered a hand by her heart. "Polly! La! You frightened me. Why…"

"Would you mind stepping out here, just for a moment? I've something you really ought to hear."

Glancing back to be sure no boats were coming by, Anna nodded. "All right, but only for a moment. Whatever are you doing back here? And who's that?"

"This is Ben, one of my friends…"

"Oh! You found them then! I'm so happy for you. And look, he's a sailor too!" She smiled and gave Ben a small curtsey. "Isn't today just the most exciting thing ever?"

"That's one way to put it," Ben observed, somewhat stunned at the resemblance between the two of them.

Polly reached out and folded Anna's hands in her own. "I've something to tell you that may not be what you want to hear," she told the girl seriously. "Will you hear me out? As a favor to a friend?"

Anna's eyes widened. "Is it grandfather?"

Polly smiled a bit of reassurance at the misplaced worry and taking the girl's arm, walked up the little path. Ben took the hint and went to lean against the wall where he could keep one eye on the crack where the door swung inward, but he couldn't help turning his head again and again to marvel at the 'two Pollys'. He was glad it wasn't his job, having to tell a young bird like that that her intended beau was a snake. The two girls paced slowly back, then turned and paced away again. He began to fret that it might be taking too long, but just about the time he'd decided to interrupt they came back again, this time with some purpose. Judging by the change in Anna's flushed face the news had indeed been heard.

"You're not thinking to still go off with him, are you?" Polly was asking.

Anna shook her head emphatically. "Oh no! No! Never! But Polly, what'll I do? He'll be here soon."

"You go, run, find your grandfather; it would be better if you weren't here at all. I'll pretend to be you. Just enough to distract him."

"Could you?" she wondered doubtfully, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Ben looked from one girl to the other. "Well, you do look an awful lot alike!" he pointed out.

Anna shook her head again. "But, Rawdon will know it isn't me."

Polly shook her own head in return. "I doubt it. Really! Your own relatives thought I was you and he'll be in a hurry, and it's pretty dark."

"But he bought me this hat," she said, obviously grasping at straws.

"Then we'll swap hats," Polly insisted. "Here." She reached up and after a moment of fumbling managed to unpin the blue and silver ship from its place. Anna's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat but she nodded and obediently reached up to remove her own. Taking Polly's jaunty ship, she pinned it into place while Polly struggled to attach Anna's simpler one among her own piled hair, nearly skewering the startled-looking stuffed finch that perched in the middle of it. Ben stifled a laugh behind his hand.

"Now go on, your grandfather is waiting for you. We'll take care of Rawdon," Polly said, the finch finally in place.

Anna took a couple of steps and looked back at them. "But… you won't hurt him, will you?" she blurted.

Polly gave a light, reassuring laugh, reaching out to pat at her hands. "Of course not, I promise."

"I'm just, oh I don't know what I'm…" Anna suddenly began to weep.

"Oh no…" Ben muttered. "Not…"

Polly elbowed him into silence and reached out to take the other girl's shoulders. "Go on! Your grandfather will understand, he knows. Now go," She turned her in the proper direction and gave a little nudge, grateful when after a moment's hesitation, she actually went.

They watched Anna's silhouette against the evening lights as she paused, wiping her eyes, then slipped back out to the main path and was gone. Polly chewed her lip. "Maybe you should go with her, to be sure she gets back."

"Nothing doing. I'm staying right here with you," Ben stated firmly. "You went missing once already today and that was enough. No matter if that bird did look just like you, you're the only Polly we've got! She didn't seem too sharp, if you take my meaning…"

"Why, Ben Jackson," Polly retorted shakily, "I never thought I'd hear you insulting my grandmother that way. Or great-grandmum. Or something." She pulled open the small door that went into the scene on the other side.

Ben's eyes widened. "Really! Was she? An' strewth, we found a bloke who might be my great-great-granddad too! Kind of crazy."

"You did?" Polly paused, one hand on the door, her surprise compounded by his odd expression. "Was he…"

Ben wrinkled his nose. "No…"

She started to reach out a sympathetic hand, then suddenly turned. "Oh! We better get inside!"

"Right!"

-oo00oo-


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

-oo00oo-

The boat ride's false-torch styled lamps glowed beside the entrance, sending the waters sparkling with their flames amid the glitter of other nighttime attractions. The crowd was sparse and few paid any attention to a tall man who was slipping along the benches and ornate fencing as if afraid he were being followed. The man paused to collect himself and then approached the attendant with a studied casualness. The attendant, who had just finished corralling a number of small dinghies off to the side for evening was reaching out a long metal hook, lining up a blue one for the next customer. Dropping his pince-nez in his pocket, he stepped forward to claim the next boat.

"Pardon me, pardon me," a smaller, dark haired man in a dark suit interrupted, abruptly slipping past, shoving his way in front of him and climbing right into the boat. "Terribly sorry," he added over his shoulder to the tired-looking attendant. "Bit of a hurry, you know. So little time and so much history to see, thank you."

"Hey now, that was mine," Rawdon objected. The attendant, having no interest in engaging in any conflict, only shrugged and sent it off then reached out to line up the next one. Angered, the sailor bit his tongue, deciding not to press the matter; he was so close to escape.

The boat with the rude little man in it jolted along on the submerged wooden slats then slipped free to drift forward into the tunnels. Rawdon frowned as he climbed into the next one, a bright lemon-coloured craft. He risked one more look around lest he'd called too much attention to himself, but there was no sign of police or officials or anyone searching for him; the only other customer was a young man in Scottish dress who idly watched the carousel while he waited for the next boat, whistling under his breath as if bored with the whole proceeding.

The craft slowly jerked and sloshed along the propelling slats and he shifted impatiently; his shoulders only gratefully relaxing as the small tunnel's smoother darkness finally swallowed him up.

His upper lip was still feeling raw where the false moustache had been so abruptly yanked off, but that didn't stop a self-congratulatory smile. What did it matter that he'd been found out at this point in the game? They couldn't possibly know who he really was and they were too late. He squeezed the fat packet of notes with satisfaction, watching an overly-painted scene of a wooden Cleopatra slipping past. Ah yes, he was well set. Once he met up with that girl he could get out of the expo easily; Paris was a big city and he knew where to hide. She would make good cover if they were searching for a single man. Yes, the girl would be useful in more ways than one, very useful.

--

Drifting ahead of him, the Doctor had also contemplated the wooden Cleopatra but with quite different thoughts. One of the things he'd realized was that in their hurry they'd never set up any kind of signal for when it would be his own boat, and therefore shortly their quarry's, approaching. It had to be recognizable as being from him. Music, perhaps? A brief pat of his pockets confirmed he hadn't his recorder with him. Only slightly set back he decided on verbal commentary; the sound would carry easily enough.

"Oh gracious me, no, no, no," he piped up to no one in particular. "Marco Polo didn't look anything like that…though I must say that likeness of Nero up there is surprisingly good. Yes, I must say it is, in spite of the fiddle. Terribly anachronistic, what were they thinking with that? And why is the Venus de Milo behind him? Tsk tsk…"

Up ahead, Polly was crossing to the wooden Joan of Arc as they slipped in to take up Anna's position. Ben carefully closed the door then did a doubletake as he turned and came face-to-face with a disturbingly ogling fake cherub.

"Oi, they're ugly ones ain't they?"

"Don't just stand there, hide," whispered Polly.

"How about here?" Ben whispered back. He hunkered down behind the false stack of painted logs that formed the unfortunate Joan's pyre, trying to ignore the bug-eyed cherubs that dangled over his head. A carpet-bag, presumably Anna's, had been hidden there, scented heavily of vaguely mixed florals. He nudged it aside. Now that he was listening he could hear what Polly already had: the echoing chatter of the Doctor's voice coming closer.

"Oh my _dear_. That must be Madame de Pompadour and that sort of disembodied head over there must be Louis. Whatever were they thinking? Wrong Louis. Not much of a showing for a country that so prides itself on its artists, I must say. Lowest bidder, perhaps…ah, and here I see we have Joan of Arc. Or perhaps not. Some unfortunate villager must have offered themselves in her stead."

Polly and Ben exchanged nervous, amused smiles as he floated past, especially as he added an exclamation of pure artistic offense over the cherubs before drifting on and around the bend, already moving to do his part.

"Just remember," Ben whispered. "_I_ didn't promise not to hurt the rat, only _you _did."

---

Rawdon was relieved to see Joan of Arc finally come into view. The strange, very possibly mad man in front of him had been babbling away nonstop and in his anxiety the tunnel-ride seemed four times longer than he remembered it. The blue fullness of a woman's skirt could just be made out behind the wooden saint's painted affectations and he smiled to himself at his own cleverness and success at arranging for feminine company. There was no way anyone could've followed him here. He was nearly home free.

He stood as he came alongside the scene, expertly balancing in the tiny boat. "Hsst! Anna!" Reaching out, he scrabbled his fingers at the edge of the small alcove, pulling the boat to the side. Polly peered out from behind Joan. "Anna! Give me a hand here."

Polly stepped forward, imitating Anna's mannerisms as best she could. "La! Rawdon darling, there you are." She reached out a hand and he grabbed at it, using her as a counterbalance to clamber up from his boat.

"Look!" he said suddenly donning a wide smile and waving the packet. "My inheritance came in the post, just like I said! Come on, let's go." He pulled her towards the back door. Polly, a bit startled at how quickly he was moving, pulled back, making him frown back at her, one hand on the door.

"Come on I said! We need to hurry!"

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she pouted, knowing full well.

"You'll find out later," he snapped, the veneer of affection rapidly slipping in his irritation. "Come _on!_" He took a firmer grip on her arm and yanked her, dragging her bodily behind him out the back doorway. Or so he intended.

"Leave her alone!"

A man was suddenly standing there, blocking his way; where he'd come from, Rawdon had no idea but he squinted in surprised recognition of a supposed shipmate. "You!" he growled. "She's mine." Polly tried to twist her arm from his grip but he only tightened it until she winced. "You'll regret interfering, Jackson."

"Not 'alf as much as you will," Ben retorted, pushing up his sleeves, fists at ready. "Let 'er go, mate! You're a thief, a kidnapper and apparently a blaggard, and I would say _worse_ but there's a lady present."

"Don't listen to him," Rawdon told Polly in a quick attempt at covering. "He's lying. _I'm_ your beau."

Ben's jaw tightened. "Now that's a load of old pony if I ever heard it!"

Rawdon swung Polly behind him and faced Ben, sneering. "_He's_ the one who's a blaggard…or _worse_. Don't worry, I'll take care of him. Take this, and don't lose it! I'll meet you beneath the old bridge!" Pulling her closer, he stuffed the awards packet into her hands and pushed her towards the door.

Polly staggered at his shove, regained her balance and put a hand to the door but instead of leaving she pulled it open and threw the packet out into the night and slammed it shut. Turning, she and Ben both grabbed at Joan of Arc herself and tipped the heavy wooden saint over with a crash. The door was blocked. Rawdon gaped at them foolishly then clenched his jaw furiously.

"Breaking with me, then?" His face flushed red. "Running off with the likes of _that_?" Edging in on the two of them, he spat in Ben's direction. "You know what old Benny Jackson is, _really_?"

Polly's look shot daggers. "You're one to talk."

Rawdon raised a hand as if to strike her only to have it knocked aside.

"I said leave her alone!"

The man whirled, enraged. With one quick movement he spun Ben around and tried to pin his arms behind his back. Ben arched, shaking his attacker off so hard that Rawdon staggered back, his head thudding into an ogling cherub which swung wildly about then thudded to the floor.

The two men faced off, edging around the small alcove as they sized each other up. Rawdon feinted and swung; Ben dropped, rolled and came back to his feet, ready to scrap.

Behind them, Polly grabbed up Anna's abandoned carpet-bag and whirled its weight, two-armed, right at the back of Rawdon's head but he ducked, avoiding a punch from Ben; there was a _thud_. Ben flew backwards, stunned, as the carpet-bag smacked straight into his face.

The bigger man barked a laugh and turned to wrap a triumphant arm around Polly's waist, yanking her close to him and planting his lips on her cheek. "Oh!" Polly screamed in disgust and dismay. "Ben!"

But it wasn't Ben who answered.

Rawdon grunted in surprise as his head was suddenly yanked backwards by the hair. "I'll teach ye to treat a lass like that!" Jamie growled, punctuating his words with solid thuds to the man's ribcage.

"Good on ya, Jamie!" Ben encouraged, staggering back up to go after the front.

Slicing a leg backward knocked the troublesome Scot off of him. Released, Rawdon straight-armed Ben's chest, propelling him back again, this time right off the edge of the alcove. Ben windmilled and fell with a splash.

Jamie jumped forward reaching to pull his friend back up only to have his legs kicked out from under him yet again. Only rolling saved him from a second kick as Ben hoisted himself back into the alcove and both scrambled to find their feet again.

Snatching the moment, Rawdon turned back to the blocked doorway, prying at the heavy carving in frustration. Polly grabbed at the carpet-bag; its side torn open, Anna's clothing and cosmetics tumbling to the ground. As her two friends jumped to grab at the man's arms, she snatched up the nearest object with any heft to it and threw. It shattered dramatically on the sailor's pate.

Rawdon's face suddenly twisted into strange paroxysms; gargling in surprise. Ben and Jamie fell back, coughing and spitting and stumbling over the wooden wreckage of the scenery as a cloud of perfume swirled up. Polly slapped her hands over her mouth, coughing and blinking from the fumes as their quarry pushed past her and grabbed up a plank, leaping back to the small boat where it yet bumped about the edge of the alcove. Driving the plank into the sidewall, he triumphantly shot it away and around the bend, leaving Ben and Jamie jumping for the remaining vessel.

It stopped with a crunch. A badly carved rendition of a newly crowned Charlemagne lay across the way, gaping at him in classically rendered surprise. Cursing, Rawdon pushed at the blockage then, balancing, stood to give it a kick, only to plunge sideways, flailing and spluttering as the boat was suddenly nudged from the rear.

"So sorry," the Doctor apologized insincerely.

Enraged, the sailor came up out of the shallow water like a spouting whale, dashing water from his eyes and snarling at the little man in the dark coat. He reached up grabbing at the Doctor's legs only to have a cherub bounce off his head. Rawdon gave an unprintable exclamation and shook his head, seeing stars.

"Get him, Ben!" Jamie called, staggering back from the force of his throw. Ben promptly jumped back overboard and began surging forward through the water. Polly screamed something as the boat minus Ben immediately flipped Jamie into the water as well.

Rawdon's eyes went from Ben's determined face to the Doctor, who was dragging over a large faux-velvet hanging to entangle him in. He turned, climbing and clawing his way up and over the wreckage that blocked his way, Ben only seconds behind him.

Jamie came after them still coughing from water he'd swallowed, grateful it was relatively shallow as he'd never liked the water. One hand gripped Charlemagne's startled face. "Doctor! Y' all right?"

"Couldn't be better!" the Doctor called back, waving him on. "Well thrown!" He watched as Jamie launched himself over the tumbled Emperor, half-falling into the water on the other side before his feet found the bottom. He gallantly surged after the others.

Polly drifted up in Jamie's abandoned boat and bumped to a stop. "He isn't getting away, is he?"

"Oh no," the Doctor grinned. "Oh, I doubt it."

---

Nighttime amusement-goers stared and scattered as the men violently floundered and splashed out of the tunnels. Rawdon hit the edge of the rotating wooden slats and cursed volatility enough to send any remaining women skittering away with small screams of alarm. Turning, he tried to hoist himself out only to have Ben forcefully yank him back down by his collar. Rawdon snarled another curse, turning and grabbing at Ben, ramming his head beneath the water. Ben choked and struggled for breath in the roiling splashes.

"Let him go y'…!" Jamie came at the combatants furiously. Lunging through the water he tried to grip Rawdon's arms, prying him off. Ben came up gasping, turned and rammed his head straight into his opponent's midriff.

Rawdon's breath _whooshed_ painfully. He shoved Jamie away, scrabbling to lever himself out again as the Scot flailed his arms in the water trying to regain his footing. Ben scrabbled after his opponent and grabbed onto his leg, hanging on grimly as the man kicked back at him, trying to hit his face. Wet clothing and pool-side slime were working against them: in spite of their best efforts the would-be thief yanked himself free from his tormenters' grasp and staggered, dripping away.

"No!" Ben protested as the sailor disappeared behind the wooden sign. "He's going to get that money!"

"Here!" Jamie said, and Ben suddenly found himself boosted right out of the water.

Ben turned to pull up Jamie. Behind him, Rawdon burst out from behind the sign, packet in hand and stiff-armed a shove at him before fleeing into the night. Ben flipped in a perfect somersault right over Jamie's head and landed with a whump in the water.

He came up to find Jamie laughing at him. "That was a neat trick!" he said swiping the water from his eyes. "Now stop foolin' around. Let's get him!"

-oo00oo-

_Additional note: Charlemagne's face is 'surprised' because one of his better-known moments was being 'unexpectedly' crowned Emperor by Pope Leo III. Most historians agree it was not the true 'surprise' he claimed but was planned out by the two of them ahead of time - perhaps being suddenly dunked and having his nose grabbed by a Scot would have brought about the real thing._


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

-oo00oo-

A small boat bumped its way out of the tunnels and onto the propelling slats but none present paid it any mind, all eyes were on the watery row and its ensuing chase into the nighttime surroundings.

Polly leaned forward, bobbing up and down so much in excitement she sent the little boat rocking from side to side. "There! Over there - Ben and Jamie are after him!"

The attendant was waving his arms after them. "Hey! Hey!" he called as the young men pelted past him, ignoring him. Frustrated, he turned his attention to the Doctor and Polly as their boat drifted up to the landing. "Those men," he started, but was cut off.

"I'm so sorry," the Doctor interjected. "Don't know them at all. Ruffians, I expect. I'm afraid I've worse news for you than unauthorized swimming my dear chap: I regret to tell you several of your so-called historic scenes have fallen into severe disarray."

"Disarray?" Polly looked both amused and disbelieving.

"Terrible mess. Terrible. You really ought to do something about it before someone thinks you keep an untidy display. Now go on." He gestured authoritatively with a damp Scottish bonnet. "Go on. You need to close the ride and get cracking on those repairs! Immediately!"

"Of c-course sir, right away," the attendant stuttered uncertainly, for lack of knowing what else to say. He turned to pull up a scroll-worked sign, running out the chain to close it off. The boat finished bumping along the slats so they could climb out.

"At least the water's washed off some of that horrid stink," Polly said as she gathered up her rumpled skirts. "I never did like French perfume, and now…ew. I'll fetch that packet," she added. "You better catch up with those boys."

"Oh yes," the Doctor agreed, cheerfully stuffing Jamie's lost bonnet in his coat pocket. "We don't want them to hurt themselves."

---

The Doctor found the trail easy enough to follow, all three men dripping with water as they were; the lines led straight towards the carousel.

The band-organ's paper rolls blared their cheerful tune from among the rotating menagerie. Though steam power had only recently given way to the inevitable march of electricity, the music rolls themselves hadn't changed a bit. Electric fairy lights sparkled on the sweeps and rounding boards, reflected in the mirrors and spun along the barley-twist poles.

A good jump ahead of him and following the wake of startled or offended patrons, Ben and Jamie pounded, squelching, after their fleeing quarry. Both of them expected he might duck around the colourful attraction, trying to take advantage of the crowds and confusion, so they were a bit surprised as the man went straight on, hurdled the low fencing and pushed over the operator to leap right onto the moving ride.

"You there! Get off!" challenged the operator from the dirt, only to be jostled aside by two more young men following the first.

"Sorry."

"'Scuse me."

A few of the ride's patrons began to protest, others stared in alarm or, in a couple of cases, began to try jumping right off. The operator, a young man who'd only taken the job for pocket-money, wasn't inclined to challenge them now that there were three ruffians instead of one; he ran for help. Unfortunately, he didn't stop the carousel first.

Ben made a leap, pulling himself up onto the rotating platform and disappeared among the bobbing menagerie. Jamie hesitated then followed, puffing out a breath in frustration as he found he'd lost sight of both of them. The motion, lights and music were momentarily disorienting, but following a lad's protesting screech as a beacon, he began making his way around the circle, trying to not lose his balance.

"Shut your trap!" Rawdon was snapping at the child, who promptly burst into tears. He crouched, watching the surrounding observers whirling past outside, trying to spot his pursuit. Only a surprised gulp from the child behind him warned him of Ben's arrival before he was tackled.

The two of them struggled briefly, ricocheting awkwardly between the undulating animals as Ben tried to wrest the packet out from Rawdon's jacket until they overbalanced and fell, still locked together. Ben tried to roll, but Rawdon was quick and almost immediately had him pinned to the wooden platform between two plunging horses.

"Give it up, Benny," Rawdon grunted, shoving the other sailor's back up against one of the shifting poles and pinning his wrists. "You know I could always best you, y' bar rat."

"That's about to change," Ben grated back at him, shifting his weight. Watching the timing overhead, he suddenly grit his teeth and arched his back. There was a satisfying thump as a wooden hoof connected with his opponent's shoulders; Ben broke free, rolling and grabbing onto a stirrup to pull himself back up. He noted the lad was now nowhere to be seen, which was just as well, as Rawdon was loosing a string of expletives that would've gotten the boy's ears boxed if he'd had the audacity to repeat them.

Rawdon was shaking out his arm, trying to get some feeling back into it. Ben shifted his feet, putting the solid wood of the horse to his back as the two sized each other up once again.

By now, more alarmed riders were abandoning the carousel, children leaping out into the arms of their parents as they went by. Somewhere in the distance a whistle was being blown, barely heard over the music. Seeing Jamie approaching from the other way, Rawdon grimaced, feinting one way then abruptly turned back with a hard tackle that sent Ben tumbling over a sleigh-shaped bench and off the ride. He ducked into the animals and was whirled away.

Jamie started to go after Ben in dismay, then backtracked after the elusive man with determination. He ducked past a wooden hog decorated in bunting, an oversized rabbit and a stag. A fat woman shrieked at him as he passed, grabbing up a wide-eyed child protectively, huddling in one of the chariot-shaped seats. He ignored her, climbing up onto a bobbing ostrich where, half-standing, he hung onto its neck for balance, and scanned for his target.

All around him animals were bobbing up and down, a few with worried riders still clinging to them. Mirrors flashed, women screamed, children cried and his water-heavy kilt was making the painted wood bird slippery. It was certainly not how he'd hoped to go on the ride.

There he was! Jamie spotted him just a little ahead, slipping between the rows, his eyes again focused outside, apparently watching for them. Jamie started to swing down just as Rawdon's head came up. His eyes widened as he realised he was still being pursued on the ride itself. He abruptly dove beneath a lifting horse towards the middle, bumping along the tall mirrors until he found an opening. He vanished into the central workings.

Jamie followed him, frustrated as he had to circle the middle nearly all the way around before he could find the obscured wooden doorway Rawdon had used. He came through it ready to fight.

It was the only door. Rawdon, who had found himself in an unexpected dead-end was attempting to climb up the blaring band-organ, whose metal pipes seemed to offer some escape out the top. Jamie jumped after him, trying to reach his legs to pull him back down, causing Rawdon to scrabble his feet sideways across the instrument. Paper music rolls wrinkled and tore and the band-organ blasted out a strangled cacophony of sound.

Jamie grimaced and leaped again to grab a wet leg hauling on it as hard as he could. Rawdon, half-deafened from the pipes, snarled in alarm and anger as the larger pipe he was clinging to popped from its supporting bracket. He kicked back, hard before he realised Diesel's much-abused suspenders were giving way.

A snapping suspender popped him in the face as Jamie fell back to the earth, a pair of wet trousers in his hands. A shoe bounced to the ground along with them. Looking up at Rawdon in his wet linen drawers, he laughed; a mockery that did nothing to improve the man's red countenance.

Ben in the meantime had skidded off the platform to land on the hard-packed earth beside the ride and simply lain there for a moment, the wind knocked out of him. An older couple approached, dragging him to his feet and chastising him, but he didn't even hear whatever it was they intended to say. Strongly shaking them off he leaped back up, grabbing one of the brass barley-twists to swing back onto the ride. Where had Rawdon and Jamie gone? Frustrated, he shinnied up one of the poles, then stood on a cow.

Polly was suddenly running beside him down beside the sweeps. "The money, it's gone!" she called up to him over the racket before falling back, gasping for air.

"That scalawag has it!" he yelled back and seeing something, suddenly launched from the cow to plunge toward the center of the ride.

A hand plucked at her elbow and Polly looked up from where she was half-bent, catching her breath. The Doctor smiled past her at the carousel. "The police seem to be taking their time. Let's slow him down a bit, shall we?"

"How?" asked Polly. "Every time they catch him, he gets away!"

"Yes, quite. Ah, just the thing," the Doctor said and suddenly trotted to the side. Polly followed him in confusion; he was headed to the neighboring booth with its fishnet full of souvenir Parisian dolls.

"What? We're going to throw dolls at him?"

"No, no, no…."

With two good yanks to the anchoring ropes the net fell free, Polly exclaiming as the wave of cheap dolls tumbled down over her. Ignoring the toys, the Doctor trampled right through them, shaking out the net and dragging it with him. Polly more carefully picked her way through and followed, her eyes widening as he trotted along, making a beeline for the moderately sized hot-air balloon ride just down the path.

The balloon was a small one for its type, essentially just a multicoloured ball on a tether, a small wicker basket serving as its gondola. It was a novelty that spent its days lifting the curious public for a briefly exotic experience in sightseeing and was not permitted to lift off after sunset, though a boy was always left on duty through the early evening hours, tending the burners and keeping it looking full and attractive amid the glow of the nearby electric lights.

By the time Polly caught up with him, the Doctor had made a rapid motion at the rope-winch and was now bundling the net into the little wicker gondola, completely ignoring the protests of the boy who'd been left to watch over it. He stuffed himself in after it, smiling happily when he saw Polly. "Ah, there you are! Good girl. Quickly now, climb in!" She obediently stuffed her skirts through the little door and joined him in the basket. The Doctor swung the wicker door shut and reached over to release a pair of sandbags.

"Are you sure this thing will carry both of us?" she asked, giving the support ropes a death-grip as it promptly began to swing off of the ground.

"No, no, Monsieur!" the boy was protesting hysterically, jumping up and down beneath them. "You'll fly away forever! You'll drown the lady in the river! You'll die!" Beside him the anchor-rope's winch made a whizzing sound as the rope played out from it freely.

"Nonsense," the Doctor called down cheerfully, releasing another weight. "The wind isn't even going that way." He glanced up at the balloon and then over at Polly in a way that made her think he was measuring her mass in relation to the lift, which he probably was. "And yes, or at least I think so. Very likely."

The balloon began to lift up out of reach. He looked down, waving reassuringly at the few people who had come to see what the boy was shouting about. "Should take them a little time to reset the winch once the rope runs out," he said to Polly. "More than enough time, I'm sure." He reached up to manipulate the burner controls again, glad to note it was burning petrol, rather than spirits as one never knew at this point in the timeline what to expect from aircraft. They hadn't quite got the hang of making them non-flammable yet. Heat and flame shot up; the balloon somewhat sluggishly lifted up over the tops of the booths then, filling more fully, caught the light breeze and silently drifted out towards the brightly spinning carousel.

Back in the heart of that same carousel, Ben barreled through the small doorway and skidded to a stop with a bark of disbelieving laughter. In the middle of the incredible noise Jamie had his wet plaid off his shoulder and was making a valiant attempt at tying one of Rawdon's ankles to a brass organ-pipe with it. Rawdon sans trousers was clinging to the blaring, honking pipes, cursing and climbing higher to reach the bracing rafter poles overhead.

"Get his other leg, Ben!" Jamie shouted back over his shoulder, trying to be heard over the noise. Taking advantage of that brief distraction, the man pulled his ankle free of the plaid, losing his remaining shoe in the process. In a burst of renewed effort he climbed up the creaking pipes like a monkey, triumphantly grabbing ahold of the poles overhead to pull himself up and out of the center.

Balancing on the canvas-covered framework as only a rigging-trained sailor might, he looked down at them and gestured rudely, shouting something that it was just as well they couldn't make out. Jamie and Ben looked up at him in frustration, torn momentarily between chasing him upward and going back out to try intercepting him when he came down then they both gaped.

Up in the darkened sky, up behind Rawdon's mocking head the darker shape of a balloon drifted into view.

-oo00oo-


	12. Chapter 12

**12.**

-oo00oo-

"La! Rawdon darling," Polly's voice sang out from the darkened sky.

"Anna?" Astonished, Rawdon's head whipped around, then up - just in time to receive a heavy faceful of netting.

He slipped, tumbling abruptly beneath the weight of it, and went bouncing in a tangle down the incline of the carousel's spinning canopy to vanish with an unmanly shriek into the slot between the rows.

"That went quite nicely," the Doctor observed as he and Polly hung on for dear life to the swinging gondola, rebounding from the drop.

"Quite nicely?" Polly repeated in disbelief as she clung to the wicker, peering over the edge, wide-eyed. "Where did he go? We didn't _kill_ him, did we?"

"Oh no, no, no. At least, well, probably not. Unlikely, don't you think?"

---

Jamie and Ben leaped back out onto the platform with its bobbing rows of now-deserted animals. "Where is he?" Jamie protested. "He didna slip out o' that one, did he?"

"I don't know!" Ben replied. "You take that way, I'll go this."

"Right!"

The two of them split up, dashing in opposite directions around the circle only to meet back up again. "He musta fallen right off!" Jamie said and turned, but Ben suddenly reached out and grabbed at his shirt to pull him back, pointing.

"Ha! Look! Look at that, now! Ain't that a sight?" he laughed.

Jamie followed his friend's pointing finger up to the slowly turning cranks on the posts above and burst out laughing with him. Not three yards away but a good ten feet up Rawdon, completely encased in netting, was dangling like a Christmas ham in the rafters and ignobly bobbing up and down with each turn of the posts.

"Y' think we should get him down?"

Ben scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and grinned up at the struggling, red-faced man. "Naw. Let's leave 'im for the police. All we need now is something to stick in his gob; he sure cusses like a proper sailor, I'll give 'im that."

---

"Who do you think you are, just taking off in a balloon like that?" The meaty-looking man was shouting up at the gondola's passengers as he and the balloon-boy worked together to rapidly winch the air craft back down to its landing place. "Scaring the life out of the boy, endangering a female…and at night! Dangerous, foolhardy…!"

The wicker touched down, the lad in question heaving discarded sandbags back up to their hooks and snapping them into place. The Doctor popped the latch and hopped down, turning to offer a gallant hand to Polly. "Dear me, didn't you hear the news?" he asked expectantly.

"What news?" The man cocked his head at him suspiciously.

"There's been talk, you must realize, of possibly using craft such as this to aid in surveillance of the less savoury elements of society and tonight your balloon has truly proven its mettle."

"Uh?" the man said. "Now see here…"

"You need to listen to this," the Doctor admonished him with a stern finger-shake. "I think you'll find it most educational. Thank you. This _very_ night there was a hardened criminal roaming these grounds, a thief in the highest degree, and you, sir, yes you! _Your _balloon was the key to apprehending him!"

"It was?"

The Doctor patted the wicker basket. "I assure you, I will inform them of how your craft here was positively_ instrumental_ in apprehending him. Instrumental! A vote of confidence on the usefulness of the airship. Well done, sir, I congratulate you." He suddenly reached out and grabbed the man's hand, pumping it up and down. "You've proven the way of the future is in good hands. Well done, sir, I say again well done!"

"It…uh, many thanks," the man said in confusion. "Much obliged."

The Doctor nodded. "That's more like it. Positively heroic, no doubt you'll be hearing from the press shortly. Now be sure you fasten that down properly, they may be wanting pictures. Now come along, Polly. We've a meeting we need to attend to."

"Pictures?" The man turned to the boy. "You heard him. Get to work cleaning this basket up. I expect it to _shine_; the newspaper, they're going to take a picture! Where's my coat?"

--

Ben and Jamie only became aware of the arrival of the police when a gendarme located the controls for the carousel and turned it off, leaving the music blatting out over a stilled menagerie. Three of the uniformed men came climbing up on the platform looking ready for trouble and shouting inquiries over the noise as a fourth ran to silence the tortured warblings of the broken band-organ.

In light of their bedraggled and suspect appearances it could be readily understood why the Doctor and Polly found not only the unfortunate Rawdon still in his net, but also their two companions being held.

"Doctor!" Jamie shouted out at them as they approached. "Tell 'em who the criminal is!"

"My, my," the Doctor muttered. "Pardon me, my dear." He left Polly, or meant to except she followed him anyway, to offer what explanations he could to the officers in question and was thankfully backed up by the timely puffing arrival of a pair of the Awards Committee members. The two older men came pushing their way through the curious onlookers accompanied by yet another officer who quickly assumed command of the situation.

"All right, all right," he intoned officiously. "You sir, yes you, you say you can identify these men?"

"Of course I can," the Doctor said with annoyance. "_That_ is James McCrimmon, my traveling companion. _That_ is Mr. Benjamin Jackson, of Her Majesty's Royal Navy and, I might note, the one these fine gentlemen from the Awards Committee owe their thanks to for saving those banknotes."

Ben blinked at him. "What? Me?"

"He's still got 'em," Jamie put in helpfully, pointing up at the red-faced man in the net, "They're in his coat."

"Now, if you'll be so kind as to release those who were helping you by apprehending the thief?" the Doctor added pointedly.

At a nod from their superior the other gendarmes slowly released their holds on Ben and Jamie, turning their attention instead to the dangling Rawdon. They seemed ready to trust the Doctor and his assessment of the young men's honesty though they were more than slightly startled at Jamie's readily producing a knife when they wondered how to cut the man loose.

The officer in charge came over to them as they watched them wrestling down the angry man in the net. He gestured at Polly. "_Ahem_. While we're grateful for your aid in that matter there, I must let you know our men were earlier notified to be watching for a girl matching this young lady's description…"

"Ah yes. That would be Anna, the young woman now spared the attentions of the rapscallion in the net. I believe you'll find _that_ girl is now safely in with her grandfather, Mr. Hubert Booth. This is her, eh, cousin."

Polly glanced distastefully back at the now supine captive who was continuing to spit occasional invectives. "We do look a lot alike," she agreed, "Though we're a bit different otherwise."

He frowned. "And mademoiselle's name is…?"

"Polly. Polly Wright."

"Hm. With her grandfather, you say?" the gendarme asked suspiciously, looking back at the Doctor.

He flicked his fingers off towards the pavilion. "Yes, yes, yes. Over that way. You're welcome to have a look."

"Will you come there with us?" the question was not really quite a question.

The Doctor's eyebrows went up as if in mild astonishment. "Seeing as we were going there ourselves, by all means, you're welcome to come along. Ben! Jamie!" He pulled out his remaining sticky handkerchief and waved it above his head to get their attention. "Let's leave these good gentlemen to their work. Come along."

"Eh?" said Jamie as they started walking. "Oh, aye. But, well…" He looked back at the carousel hesitantly.

"What is it?" asked Ben.

"My bonnet! I lost it somewhere in all that jumpin' about."

"Oh, is that all?" the Doctor said. He reached into his pocket and tugged out the wadded, still damp Glengarry bonnet. "Here it is."

Jamie accepted it from his hand dubiously and tried to shake it back into shape. "Didja have to mash it all up like that? This is a piper's bonnet, y' know. Ye don't jus' mash it up…"

"It's good enough," Ben interrupted as the gendarme cleared his throat impatiently. He snatched it from Jamie's hand, pulled it open and smacked it down on the top of his head. "Let's go!"

"Hey!" Jamie protested as the damp wool slid down over his eyes. "All right, all right. I'm goin'."

"Yes," the Doctor said significantly. "I think it's about time _we all_ were going."

They walked down the paths, trying to pretend there wasn't an officer walking just behind them, and were grateful when the building came into view.

"What if Anna's not there?" Polly whispered. "He might try to drag me off to those horrid people again."

"I'd like to see 'im try it," hissed Ben.

"_We_ aren't the ones that went about kidnappin'…" grumbled Jamie, nudged into silence by the Doctor's elbow.

"The gentleman is only doing his job. He's let us come this far," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but only under his ol' boiled egg of an eye. What if the bloke changes his mind about us?" Ben whispered. "He's not takin' Polly." He clenched his fists.

They all glanced back at the uniformed man who was still walking just behind them.

The Doctor put a hand to Ben's shoulder and kept him walking. "Now, now," he said softly. "No need to be confrontational, I'm sure. Let's see what happens first, shall we?"

"Sir!" Yet another uniformed man, this time a local Exposition security guard emerged from the building in question, waving an arm for their attention. They stopped, and the officer escorting them excused himself to exchange words, quickly returning with a nod.

"It appears the accomplices have also been apprehended." He clasped his hands behind his back and measured them up and down again. "And I am told the men of the Awards Committee wish to commend you," he added, "though I certainly hope they know what they're doing. I, for one, don't entirely trust you. There's something odd about you lot."

"Splendid!" the Doctor said, happily ignoring the officer's stated doubts. "Caught them did they? That came out well, now didn't it? We'll go right in, thank you."

-oo00oo-


	13. Chapter 13

**13.**

-oo00oo-

Leaving the two officers frowning and comparing notes behind them, the Doctor quickly led the way across the neat flagstones to the building where Diesel's machine still stood on display. Pulling open one of the now-familiar gilded doors, he politely held it to allow Polly to pass.

"I can't believe that low-down _had_ accomplices. Why would anyone go along with something as stupid as impersonating an well-known man like that?" wondered Polly. "Did they really think they could get away with it?"

"It appears the sailors working with him had been convinced they were helping take back what rightfully belonged to England, or to a part-English inventor anyway." Letting go of the door he let it swing back in Jamie's face. " Misguided patriotism. That and getting a share of the money of course."

"What, that money belonged to England?" Jamie asked, catching the edge with his fingers.

"No, no. Not the money, though yes, I do expect that had more to do with it than they'll be admitting. There _were _some patent disputes over who thought up the Diesel engine in this era, an Englishman or our Mr. Diesel who came from Bavaria - not that kidnapping and drugging an eminent inventor is the way to remedy anything."

"Oh, aye."

Ben caught at the door as it swung behind Jamie. "So we're sure they've been caught?" he asked with relief.

"Oh yes, quite simple really; they were just outside the gate with a getaway carriage. The authorities have them for now until they can be returned to their ship."

"A getaway carriage?" Ben laughed. "I thought getaway cars were something modern."

The Doctor's brows went up. "Modern? Fleeing the scene of a crime is as old as guilt," he noted then quirked a crooked smile. "Or at least as old as not wanting to be caught. Found in the majority of intelligent life-forms too, though the mode of conveyance varies rather widely. Met one once fleeing for his life on the most unusual…"

"Ah, Doctor! There you are." Mr. Booth called. He was approaching them slowly to accommodate a worn-looking Anna who hung on his arm. Her intended's duplicity had finally sunk in, judging by her tear-blotched cheeks and puffy eyes.

"Hm!" said a voice behind them even as they smiled in greeting. They glanced back to find the officer had come in after them and was now looking back and forth between Polly and Anna.

"There you are, officer," the Doctor waved a hand. "Safe and sound, just as I said."

The gendarme nodded with a puzzled frown. "Twins. Figures. They could've said as much," he muttered then went on ahead to where a clump of the rumpled committee members were gesturing earnestly with the authorities and official papers were being scribbled up.

Mr. Booth and Anna settled down on one of the benches. Seeing the girl's face, Polly was somewhat sympathetic; she recalled the high if unrealistic hopes expressed earlier that evening. In truth though, while was still a little sorry for the way they'd had to spring the news so abruptly she mostly just hoped the shock had knocked some sense into her forebear's head.

"You never told me you were so miserable, child," Mr. Booth was consoling as they gathered around them. "And this has been a terrible experience, I'm sure it has. Yes, very shocking for you, I can imagine."

There was a small stir in the men gathered by Diesel's display with members of the press having arrived to ask questions of the Committee. Three of them were carefully setting up a large camera tripod and flash boxes, others were poking around in the crates behind the big motor, rummaging in anything open and scribbling things down on paper.

"Yes, yes. Terrible," the Doctor said absently, watching the men. "Excuse me a moment, will you?" He strode purposefully off, leaving them to shrug at one another.

"You'll be coming back with me to Britain, I think." Booth continued, patting the girl's hand where she clutched his arm, a soggy handkerchief wadded between her fingers. "I'll have your uncle watch over the vacuum, it's safe enough without me for now. We might even leave next week."

Anna frowned petulantly. "Just so you can send me off to some finishing school in London instead?"

"No, no. Somehow I don't think finishing school is what you need just now. No. You're a bright girl. Perhaps you could be my assistant for a while."

"Now there's an idea," Polly encouraged.

Anna's brow furrowed. "Running the vacuum wagon into shops?"

"Vacuum wagon?" Ben said looking back at Booth's display curiously then politely hiding his amusement.

"Oh no, no. That's not work for a young woman. No. I was just thinking… well, my company may benefit from having a pretty young office assistant to talk to the customers. You know, this wrinkled old face of mine isn't always the best thing for them to see. Yours would be much prettier."

"Except don't you believe anyone who says you're only a pretty face," Polly interjected, getting a surprised look from Booth. "Assisting is real work, it's a real job. I used to be an assistant."

"You were?" Anna said with surprise. "You were a working-woman, in a business?"

"Sort of; it was for a scientist in London. Just carry yourself as a professional woman and be sure they pay you what you're worth and you'll be fine."

"A professional woman!" laughed Anna. "You say some of the funniest things, Polly. I certainly couldn't be a professional man, could I?" She turned back to her grandfather. "Do you really mean it? You mean I might have a real working job with my very own wages?"

"That's right," her grandfather nodded.

Anna's eyes lit up hopefully. "Without having to be a seamstress? Or a lady?"

"Well, I don't know about the lady part," he frowned. "But, yes, yes I do believe it may be for the best. After all, if good British stock such as ourselves can't begin taking some steps into the future, who can? And who knows, perhaps we can save up a bit of money to see those tropical islands of yours someday."

Anna blushed a bit at this and hugged her grandfather's arm closer. "By balloon, you think? But whatever will we tell Aunt Edith and Uncle William?"

"Tell them your grandfather thinks you're ladylike enough already," Polly suggested mischievously.

The Doctor came walking back looking distinctly annoyed, though he swiftly rearranged his features to polite interest as he came up to them. Mr. Booth noted the look and nodded in what he thought was understanding.

"It _has_ been an eventful day."

The Doctor clasped his hands together, returning his nod. "Yes. Yes, I must say we didn't expect it to be quite _this _eventful but still I suppose it all turned out well enough didn't it? The prize money is safe and Mr. Diesel's unusual mimic is likewise safely tucked away."

"I cannot get over that man's audacity. Though," Booth turned to the smaller man and considered him over the top of his spectacles. "You seemed to already know something of this subterfuge. What made you suspect him in the first place?"

"Oh, I suppose everyone who reads the press must know Mr. Diesel runs a bit pacifistic, a bit utopian," the Doctor replied evasively. "That fellow back there was quite blatantly grasping and violent, wouldn't you say? Dead giveaway that something wasn't quite right. Very plain."

"Oh yes. I suppose so." Booth frowned at the vagary then suddenly rummaged in his pocket. "Plain yet complicated: which reminds me, there's a bit of paperwork about all this I was supposed to give to you. Told them I would. You'll be wanted as a witness in the court and all that of course." He handed it over to him. "The bane of modern life, official papers. Well! I'm off for the night. Anna is a bit under the weather with all this excitement, of course, and the day is late. We must bid you good-night, but will no doubt see you in the courtroom if not before then." He nodded at each of them politely, holding out an arm for his granddaughter.

"Good-bye," Anna said. "Good-bye, Polly. Maybe we'll see you in London sometime?"

"Maybe," Polly said politely. "Though I'm not sure when."

The Doctor unfolded the papers as the others watched them making their way out. "Hmm."

"What is it?" asked Jamie, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Hm, Hm," he repeated as he riffled through them. "Oh, now _this_ is interesting. Look at this." He turned the papers towards them. "Benjamin Jackson, Midshipman is noted as having been of exemplary service above and beyond, etcetera, etcetera." He gave Ben a very satisfied smile. "Now isn't that interesting? Ha. Looks like your family is getting a promotion."

"Benjamin?" Polly asked.

"What? Y'mean, the other…" Ben said a bit blankly. "They thought _he_…"

"Could be the telling turn in his fortunes, who knows?" the Doctor continued, stuffing the paper into his coat pocket.

"Can I see that?" asked Ben, reaching to pull it back out. He leafed through them, examining the promotion, then looked at the one behind it. "Oi, look at this! It's not just an announcement, it's a court order ain't it? To, whatchcallit, testify."

"We aren't goin' to have to listen to it, are we?" asked Jamie in dismay.

"Oh, I hope not." Polly screwed up her face with distaste. "The _last_ thing I want to spend time sitting around some French courtroom."

The Doctor snatched the papers back from Ben and stuffed them in his pocket again. "I have no intention of going to any court, French or otherwise, and neither should you; _ I_ think it's high time we were off. Besides, they're asking questions about the TARDIS. Seemed to be thinking it was one of the crates for the engine parts." He sniffed, obviously offended at the thought.

"Engine parts?" laughed Jamie. "They weren't far off the mark."

"They were trying to open it." He marched, stiff-backed off towards the stacked wooden boxes.

"It could use a few spare bits, is that what you're thinking?" Ben asked, ribbing Jamie with an elbow. "I'm with him, high time to get out of here."

"Aye," Jamie agreed. "I've seen enough of this place. Besides, wi' two o' that inventor chap, two Bens an' two Pollys I think we should leave before another Doctor shows up!"

Ben laughed, offering Polly his arm as they walked back. "Oh, that'd be rich wouldn't it? A deuce o' Doctors!"

"He'd get into twice as much trouble," Jamie grinned. "Ye'd have to double me too."

Ben shielded his eyes in mock horror. "Didja hear that, Duchess? Hurry it up, Doctor; quick, we've got to get away before another Jamie shows up!"

The Doctor glanced back at them as they followed him, sliding behind the stacks. He fished out his key. "One of each of us is quite sufficient, I think," he smiled. "Quite sufficient indeed."

-oo00oo-

--

_Additional Notes:_

_I've taken a few liberties with Mr. Hubert Cecil Booth, whose horse-drawn vacuum service wasn't patented until the following year, and who was only about 30 in 1900. I just rather liked his invention and that it wouldn't draw nearly the attention the diesel engine would, so he has been conveniently aged a bit. On the other hand, I've also made him an ancestor for the magnificent Polly so that hopefully helps even things out._

_I've also a smaller number of liberties to confess in regards to the unfortunate Mr. Rudolf Diesel who very likely never had any adventure of the sort, though the rest of the general facts about him are correct including his being plagued with headaches. Though his family often lived as if wealthy, he constantly struggled with both financial and health issues. Diesel was a pacifist with utopian leanings and believed his invention would bring freedom to the working man. After witnessing his work being used to develop submarines, warships and other objects of destruction, he became depressed, put his affairs in order and threw himself off of a ship in the English Channel._


End file.
